I'll Stand Alone
by Crystaviel
Summary: A new Dark Arts professor arrives at Hogwarts and must convince a suspicious Snape that she's not a threat. However, strange events are making her job rather difficult...False selves, true forms, lust, betrayal and Death Eaters every which way.
1. Duvet

** Prologue: Duvet **

_ -And you don't seem to understand   
A shame, you seemed an honest man   
And all the fears you hold so dear   
Will turn to whisper in your ear   
And you know what they say might hurt you   
And you know that it means so much   
And you don't even feel a thing-   
_   
**-boa "duvet"**

Lilika knew the Potions Master disliked her the instant he laid eyes on her. 

She was standing in front of the lot of them like a chastised student, horribly nervous, weak in both knees and every fiber of her being straining towards them, trying to ensure that they accepted her. They were all older then she, these professors, grave and stern like sentinels and they _ wouldn't stop watching her. _

If she gave way to nervous collapse in front of them she would never forgive herself. Might as well just hand her enemies the knife or the wand and be done with it. If she couldn't stay at Hogwarts, if they had no use for her brilliance, she would be finished. 

The seal was very cold against her breasts. 

"Well?" Dumbledore said, his eyes crinkled in a cheerful smile. "If no one has serious objections, then I am pleased to say Miss Jardin is our new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor…" 

Tiny Flitwick was bobbing his head absently-she couldn't be afraid of him, with his tufty milkweed hair and wide, mild eyes. Vector smiled, her head tilted upwards on her long neck, and Sinistra nodded and ran spindly fingers across the staff table.   
Professor McGonagall alone looked slightly uneasy, her mouth pulled into a tight corner. Her black hair was scraped off her face and Lilika thought it a wonder she managed to change facial expressions at all with her skin pulled tight by that bun. 

"You seem qualified. After all, it's not everyone who knows defenses against one-hundred and thirty different curses. Some I've never even heard of myself." McGonagall said crisply and managed to make it sound like an accusation. Was it? 

Lilika nodded, and found herself pulling her black braid forward and playing with the blue ribbon binding it in her single nervous gesture. 

"Some of the curses are original to my family. My brother..." She had to stop for a moment and breathe. The image of her siblings taunting her with the Petrificonus Curse was swinging a little too vividly before her eyes. "My brother and sister liked to experiment with new ways to tease me. A lot." 

"Yes, yes," McGonagall said, then stopped. "You are one of the more qualified people we've ever had applying for the position. We desperately need a Dark Arts teacher, and you _ are _ the best of the current lot. I have nothing personal against your appointment...it's just that, with times the way they are.." McGonagall then trailed off. She met Lilika's eyes directly and seemed to be trying to find the best way to put something uncomfortable, her brow twitching. 

"There's just been so much trouble with the Dark Arts position-and you are rather.." 

"Young?" the Potions professor- _ what was his name again? _ -put in smoothly. "One of the youngest Dark Arts professors Hogwarts has ever seen." 

"You say that like it's a bad thing Severus," Dumbledore said mildly, in between bites of a large toffee. He came around behind her and Lilika felt something pressed into her clenched hand. Dumbledore then continued around her with nary a pause. "Miss Jardin is not much younger then Quirrell was." 

"Not the best example, I'm afraid, Headmaster," the Potions master murmured. He turned to face her, his eyes narrowed into dark little slits. They swept over her face, searching for weakness and Lilika tried her hardest to look blank and harmless. His eyes made a few more passes before he snorted softly and turned away. Judging from the sneer now on his lips she'd been measured, considered and obviously found wanting. 

"Of course we all know how dear Quirrell turned out," Professor What's-His-Name said, and jerked his large nose down at her as punctuation to his point. Lilika tried not to feel offended, as people always ended up looking down at her. It was just one of the perils of being, as her sister had used to say "as scrawny as a teeny little chipmunk." 

The Potions Professor was speaking again and she reluctantly dragged her attention back to face another of his accusations. 

"And just where did you go to school again? Not Hogwarts. I checked." His narrow black eyes glittered as they stared her down, making her feel like a butterfly pinned to one of those dissection boards. "It's very _ odd _ that you've never been to any of the wizarding schools available." 

"I had private tutors," Lilika said evenly, trying her hardest to keep from sending her fist right into that large nose. "And you're making it sound like I'm an infant. I'm twenty-seven. Hardly a child." 

"It's the rare family that doesn't send a child to one of the schools," McGonagall mused aloud. Obviously these two were the ones with the power after Dumbledore. Lilika went to face her, turning her back on Mr. Suspicion. 

It didn't help, as she could feel his eyes boring a hole into her back and out to the far hall. She sighed. 

"The Jardins are a cadet branch of one of the snootier wizarding families," Lilika said helpfully. Her throat tightened at having to say so much, but she managed to get her voice out. "We had a taste of the throne-lost it after a fairly short time. Since then, we've been trying to build up back up to that. Think we're too good to mix with the common people." She scratched her nose in embarrassment as she finished, feeling the tips of her ears turn red. 

"I don't feel that way," she added lamely. 

"I think Miss Jardin will be a good addition," McGonagall said finally and Lilika let out a large, grateful breath. "I have no objections."   
A small but kind smile crossed her mouth. "I was afraid you'd end up fainting from lack of air. Don't be so worried, child." 

The other teachers began murmuring their assent, while Lilika stared at a spot one the wall shaped exactly like a rabbit. It was right over Vector's head. _ I hope I'm not all red with embarrassment and looking like a stupid schoolgirl. _

Dumbledore rose and stretched, his long silver beard wagging as he did. 

"Then we'd best proceed with the preparations for the banquet, yes? Professor Jardin needs some time to get acquainted with Hogwarts as well, since she's never been here before." 

She nodded and secretly rubbed her right leg against her left. One of her stockings was falling down again. Her stockings were supposed to be one of the best brands money could buy and the damn things couldn't even stay up for a hour on their own. 

Dumbledore smiled at her once more and Lilika smiled back. She liked his smile. It made her feel calm. Like this was the right place to be. 

Dumbledore went and turned to leave, but the dark Potions Professor jumped up and went after him. 

"Headmaster," he began in a low intense tone, moving to catch the older man by the sleeve. "You can't possibly allow this…unknown to take the job. A girl who just appeared out of nowhere, no one knows her..." 

Lilika was inwardly outraged and bit her lip hard to keep from showing it on her face. She tasted blood. _ Nobody? If only you knew.. _

"Remember the problems we've had!" the man hissed. "The trouble over these last few years!" 

Dumbledore looked at his urgent face and sighed. 

"I tell you Severus, your suspicions are baseless. Professor Jardin." He looked at her over the Potions Professor's shoulder and grinned a little. 

"You haven't been traveling in the forests of Albania anytime in the last five years by any chance?" 

"No, I haven't left England in fifteen years," she answered, a little startled. 

"I rest my case then." 

Dumbledore turned and left, leaving the Potions Master with one hand dangling limply in midair. He lowered it with a grimace and Lilika went against her better instincts and crossed over to him. 

"Sorry to disappoint you," she said quietly and grinned. 

The man whipped his head around and shot her a very black look; his eyes as hard and fierce as a hawk's. 

Lilika shook her head, but she couldn't stop smiling. _ I've been accepted and you can't do anything to dampen that. _

The Potions Master stalked over and leaned in very close, his oily hair nearly brushing her cheek, and she swallowed, and almost stepped back. Lilika hated people getting right into her face; it made her twitch. Then she thought better of it and stared him down as well. His eyes were so black a bat might like to live in them. 

"I will be watching you," he hissed, revealing uneven but sharp teeth. 

"I'll be looking at you as well, unfortunately," Lilika snapped. 

"Snape!" McGonagall barked. "Leave the girl alone. You're far too stingy with your trust." 

"And the Headmaster is far too free with it," he breathed angrily, and then swept from the room, shutting the door rather forcefully behind him. 

Lilika looked at the closed door and bit the inside of her mouth, hard. _ Snape, eh? I could swear I've heard that name before…Severus Snape...though if I have, it means nothing good. _

All of the names ever mentioned in her house were either the dead or their murderers. 

"Don't mind him," McGonagall was saying behind her. "He has enough bitterness in him to choke a dragon. Doesn't like change at Hogwarts. Particularly considering the times we're in now." She broke off and said abruptly, "You'd better go and learn your way around. Ask one of the ghosts to guide you...since you're staying in Ravenclaw, it'd better be the Grey Lady. Go on now. There's not much time left until the term starts." 

"I will then. I'll be seeing you." She bowed halfway, then nearly ran out the door, breathing hard. _ I can't remember ever feeling so dumb. Oh gods, I hope I haven't made a mistake in coming here. _

But where else could she go? 

Her hand tightened and she felt something squish. _ Dumbledore.. _ She opened her fingers one by one. 

There was chocolate smeared on her palm and in her hand was a smushed but edible caramel chocolate. 


	2. Beginning

** Part 1: Beginning **

_-I've lived my life alone  
My every step foretold  
To never linger  
And yet it haunts me so_  
**-the smashing pumpkins**

Her room, set in a tiny tower sprouting off the Ravenclaw common room, was nicely done in a pale shade of blue. The bed was firm and she tested it for springiness by bouncing on it a few times before nodding approval. 

"I'm glad you like the room my dear," the Grey Lady said. She was a tall, elegant specter dresssed in neat robes of shimmering silver and possessed of a tendency to look around the room as she spoke. "It is a lovely guest room, is it not? I've always liked blue myself. In fact, this might even be the room I died in, though of course it's been updated. One tends to forget these things after a while." 

"Yes, charming," Lilika said, with a small swallow, and began prowling about the room, throwing open the room's closets and chests. There proved to be nothing more threatening inside then a few dust bunnies, who growled, revealing wicked silver fangs, and then promptly scattered off to darker places as she stared at them. She ended her inspection by squirming under the low bedframe. "No boggarts, right? No ghouls or anything like that? They make such a racket at night." 

"Not," the Grey Lady said, looking properly horrified, "in _ this _ part of the castle." She put slender transparent fingers up to her carefully done mass of hair as if to assure herself it was all in place, then folded her hands across her stomach. 

"Alright." Lilika ran a careful hand over her braids, feeling for snags. This close inspection still managed to miss the large and disgruntled dust bunny that had clamped itself onto the end of her braid until the Grey Lady stared at her for a few moments in silence, then began clicking her tongue. After two or three confused seconds, Lilika finally grasped her meaning and yanked the vicious and fluffy little ball of dirt off, ending up with a matching set of fang marks in her left index finger for her pains. 

"Disgraceful," the Grey Lady murmured. "I suppose the House Elves will have to be spoken to. No one's used this room in many years, but that doesn't mean it can't be clean." 

Lilika busied herself unpacking her chest, tossing items onto random surfaces while the Grey Lady drifted over first to the window, then came back to look over Lilika's shoulder. A drop of cold sweat ran down Lilika's back, right between her shoulder blades as the Grey Lady moved closer to examine her robes. 

The Grey Lady was nice enough for a ghost, but that didn't mean she wanted the Grey Lady clinging to her. It had been odd enough following a silvery smear of light all around the castle, but to have the Grey Lady brushing up against her was making her break out in gooseflesh all down her back. She had very little experience with ghosts; there had been none around the house when she was growing up. It was a good thing she supposed. It had been hard enough sleeping at night. 

"Your robes look as if they are quite fine quality," the Grey Lady said approvingly. "Are you from one of the old families my dear?" 

"Old yes," Lilika replied, not really wanting to go into specifics. She folded her everyday stockings and put them into the armoire, threw her lingerie collection into a black chest crawling with a stylised pattern of glaring hawks-"Muggle undergarments?" the Grey Lady murmured in what sounded like horrified curiousity-then took out her spare shoes. They needed polish dreadfully. "We…are you a noblewoman, Lady?" 

"Of course! MY family was once the finest of all the wizarding families, the highest for several centuries. Alas." The Grey Lady's voice faded slightly. "We are no more. The last of the main branch passed on last century. We were the Lovells once." 

Lilika choked and began putting away things even faster. She'd have to keep the Grey Lady from finding out what family she was from then, as her family had not gotten along well with the Lovells. Not well at all. 

Not wanting to continue with that topic, she finally settled on "Is it nearly time for the feast then?" 

The Grey Lady, who had gone back to looking out the window, actually jumped slightly. "I'm so sorry. I almost forgot you were here. Yes, the feast is nearly upon us-you'd better change, I think," she said, eyeing Lilika's pale grey robes with the faint distaste of the well-dressed. "Something a little more formal. Best to impress the students right at the start." 

"I can accept that." Lilika stripped off her robe and exchanged it for a deep red one, shoving her feet into her formal slippers as she went. The Grey Lady had politely turned her back and through her, Lilika could count the tiles in the wall. 

"Alright," she said, hastily brushing out her hair, then re-braiding it. Lilika finished up by winding a pale blue artificial rose into the tie holding her braid together, looked into the mirror and was satisfied. "I'm ready." 

"Then we'll go down together. Most embarrassing if you became lost on feast day." With that, the Grey Lady turned and glided out through the wall, leaving Lilika to scramble after her more prosaically through the door. 

Lilika folded her hands in her lap and watched as the Sorting Hat was brought out. 

She felt a little uncomfortable sitting up at the high table where everyone could see her from any angle. Most of the students had goggled at her coming in and she saw several point and whisper, which made her even more uneasy. It felt so odd to be in a position of authority again, after all this time. Well, it wasn't as if she had ever really had authority to begin with; just with Clara and Agnes and her nurse. They didn't really count either, since they had been more like her friends then her servants. 

She had been seated besides Vector and Flitwick, but Flitwick had gone to get the Sorting Hat, and Vector was talking quietly but enthusiastically with Professor Sprout. Dumbledore was seated in the middle, wearing a truly fantastic robe embroidered with golden comets and silver stars that actually moved and changed position. She envied him that robe terribly.  
Besides Dumbledore sat Professor McGonagall, tidy in her green tartan robes. Next to McGonagall, a huge man with wild black hair that draped over his broad face like a shaggy curtain was almost overflowing his seat. He hadn't been among the staff introduced to her at her hiring. She studied him, noting the well-worn clothes and the hands wide as a dinner plate, not scrubbed completely clean. Someone who spent a lot of time outdoors and enjoyed it. His face was usually beaming a cheerful smile and Lilika decided she liked the way he looked. 

Further down the table was the thin, scowling visage of Snape and Lilika was very glad he was at the other end of the long table, as it kept her from hurling one of the plates straight at his throat, especially after she caught him glaring at her several times. The first few times she had scowled back, but the next time she caught him, she smiled back cheerfully and his face became even angrier. She had nearly laughed again, but held it in. It was going to be fun playing with that one. If he was going to be trouble, she was going to give him trouble right back, and God only knew she had enough experience with _ that. _

A sudden burst of applause rang out and Lilika looked up, startled. A frayed and tattered hat was now sitting on a stool in the center of the room and McGonagall was also below, leading a long line of mostly terrified-looking children. _ Damnit. _ Obviously the Hat had done its famous song while her mind was wandering on. Served her right for letting Snape get to her. _ I'll have to pay more attention. _

McGonagall was unrolling a thick scroll of parchment. 

"When your name is called, you will put on the hat and once your House is announced, you will then proceed directly to its table." 

Lilika had to admire the sharp and precise way McGonagall spoke. It almost seemed like the Dark Lord himself would cower before her if spoken to like that, in that imperious and confident way. It was a good skill to have. 

"Aberdeen, Jemina!" 

A pallid little girl walked forward, trembling so much her braids were shaking. Was it really such an ordeal? It looked like a lot of fun from where she was sitting. 

"HUFFLEPUFF!" the hat shouted. The Hufflepuff table burst into loud applause. 

"Agnore, Jack! 

"SLYTHERIN!" 

"Anderly, Louisa!" 

"RAVENCLAW!" 

Lilika applauded quietly too, as the Ravenclaw table went into cheers and shrieks. The Grey Lady looked properly pleased. 

The line of children continued on and Lilika felt her stomach beginning to rumble. She pressed a calming hand to it. _ Nice if they'd speed it up a bit. _ They were only to the G's and Lilika counted at least forty or fifty children still on line. 

"Grey, Thomas John!" 

An extremely pale blond boy walked forward and sat on the stool, gripping it so tightly his knuckled turned pure white. Lilika watched him with a bit of nostalgic detachment, while patting her aching stomach. He was almost as fair as her brother had been, the poor frightened boy. There was a moment of tense silence. 

"RAVENCLAW!" The Ravenclaw table promptly began yelling again. 

"Hughley, Emmaline! 

"GRYFFINDOR!" 

_ Arrrrrrghhhhhh. _

Finally the Sorting Hat had been carried away and Lilika was reduced to staring ravenously at her golden plate. _ I'm dying here. _

Dumbledore was saying something about the Forbidden Forest and the giant squid, but the rumble of her stomach was drowning out everything else. 

"And lastly," she heard Dumbledore say "I am very pleased to welcome another new teacher to Hogwarts once more. Professor Jardin has very considerately come here to fill the constantly vacant Defense Against the Dark Arts position. May she avoid incident and let us all hope she has a better-and _ longer _ -stay then her predecessors." 

_Thank you for starting off my job on such an ominous note...you know, you've just jinxed me now that you've said that out loud..._

The room gave some dutiful applause and Lilika looked up quickly and smiled at the assembled crowd. Most of them looked just as hungry as she was. _ Please please please food. _

"I believe that's everything," Dumbledore said, beaming around the room. He paused for just a moment. 

"Which means it's time to eat." 

Hoarse cheers started but quickly died down as students and teachers began devouring the food that had appeared in front of them. Lilika had grabbed a chicken wing as soon as the food appeared and began gnawing on it. It was pretty good and she filled her plate happily. 

The clatter of forks, plates and voices filled the Great Hall as everyone ate and Lilika listened to the animated conversations going on at the staff table. She talked little herself, but smiled and nodded a lot. _ This might be tolerable, once I get to know everyone. I've been away from people for so long, I think I've forgotten how to talk to them. _

Soon she was licking the last bit of custard off her fingers and Dumbledore rose to tell everyone goodnight. The students began filing off to their Houses, leaving the Hall in great noisy groups with the new students trailing nervously behind them, and Lilika decided it probably was a good idea to go to bed. It had been a long strange day and tomorrow she was teaching her first class. 

_ And I have to teach all these children -in just a year!- enough to keep them alive. _

Lilika slid out of her seat and began to make her way back over to Ravenclaw tower, ending up stuck behind a small knot of the teachers talking together. Sprout and Flitwick were directly in front of her, talking together in low voices. They were also walking very slowly. 

"Excuse me, I don't mean to be rude, can I go through?" Flitwick and Sprout parted just long enough for her to squeeze through and she gratefully moved past them, heading towards Ravenclaw. _ What was the password again? _

"In a hurry to be away?" a voice said softly from behind her, and Lilika looked over her shoulder long enough to see exactly who she didn't want to see. Professor Snape. She glared at him, but he appeared unmoved. 

"Why do you act like everything I do is criminal?" she asked, trying to keep her voice low and even. Snape's dispassionate black eyes flickered over her face as she watched him in return. "Did I offend you in some way without knowing? Because if I did, I'd like to know-so I can do it again." 

Snape's thin, sallow face twisted in anger, his mouth working, but his eyes were on Dumbledore, a few feet ahead of them, talking with Professor Sinistra. He leaned forward as Lilika leaned away. 

"Some of us think that a young girl appearing out of nowhere, knowing so very much about the Dark Arts is just a tiny bit suspicious." His eyes were glittering with venom and something else. "A girl with no family name I've ever heard of, who hasn't been to any of the wizarding schools and who so _ conveniently _ has no one to remember her." 

Lilika opened her mouth to say something, feeling a sharp sense of outrage rising in her stomach, but he raised his hand and she faltered, wondering if he meant to strike her. His narrow face twitched into a smile. 

"All of our Defense Against the Dark Arts professors in the last few years had their..shall we call them faults?" His voice was low, smooth and even, with just a bare hint of repressed rage. "One was a monster in disguise. One imitated Dumbledore's good friend and helped Voldemort to rise again. One was a utter, craven fool and one carried Voldemort himself within him." Snape gave a short, false bark of laughter. "Why should you be any different?" 

Lilika said nothing, did nothing, only watched him steadily, but her eyes were beginning to burn. 

"So therefore, I shall be watching you closely…very, very closely. The last few times, no one noticed anything until it was almost too late. I will _ not _ …make that mistake again." 

Lilika watched him, fixing her eyes on his thin, sallow face. In the shadows the bones were clearly visible under the skin stretched tightly over them. It all looked far too much like a skull. 

He looked back down at her for a moment, then wordlessly pushed past her and swept down the corridor that led to Slytherin. 

She was trembling, and her hands were so tightly clenched they were going numb. With the caution of a surgeon-difficult because of her trembling body-Lilika pried her fingers open, saw the bloody crescents standing brightly against her pale skin and began to sink to the floor. She let out a long shaky breath, trying to calm herself, still her heartbeat. 

"You suspect me…you suspect me anyway, without knowing anything. Without knowing the truth." She was still shaking. She couldn't deal with this again, not here, and especially not now.

"You _ bastard. _ This is the only place I have." 

Lilika leaned against the wall, putting icy hands to the throbbing veins in her temples. A dull ache rose between her shoulder blades and her mouth felt as dry and bitter as wormwood. She hated herself. 

"My only refuge. If you ruin this for me, I'll harrow you straight to hell myself." 


	3. After

** Part 2: After **

_ -She was a vixen when she went to school,   
And though she be but little, she is fierce- _

**-William Shakespeare, "A Midsummer Night's Dream" **

Lilika sat down and buried her head in her hands, rubbing her temples to try and take away the aching. 

She'd spent the last three hours trying to teach frightened first years the basics of defense and attack- _ except they need to learn a lot more then that and a lot faster besides, in these times _ - second years and third years how to refine their basic skills and move on from there- _ except some of them barely know their basics and I think I know why _ - and fourth years were not until Wednesday, thank God. 

But in just twenty minutes, the fifth years were coming in, and after them and after lunch came the advanced classes, the sixth and seventh years that planned to specialize in Defense Against the Dark Arts. 

Well, hopefully they were planning to specialise in the Defense part and not the Dark Arts one. 

Her head was still throbbing and she winced. She'd had a bad night of it, tossing and turning around, twisting her nightdress into little sweaty folds, finally jumping up to pace around her room, biting her lip in fury. 

_ How could I have slipped like that? _ she'd raged. _ I've dealt with worse than him twenty billion times over and I never cried once. _

_ You show your feelings and you make yourself a wide open target for your enemies, _ her father had liked to say. Lilika could almost hear his dry throaty voice repeating the words over and over, savouring each syllable before finally speaking it aloud. 

_ Show those who torment you a smiling face and blast the bastards to hell once their backs turn. _

She looked down at the notes she had made for her courses. Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff first years first period Tuesdays and Thursdays, Slytherin and Gryffindor first years second period on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Hufflepuff third years third period Thursdays. She tightened her lips. The first years seemed to be doubling up on the Dark Arts this year, unlike the other years. _ Small wonder, as they're the most vulnerable, but there's bloody little an eleven year old can do in case of a Death Eater attack, no matter how talented they are at curses. _

Dumbledore had also added a few "little suggestions", as he called them, on what she should concentrate on. Lots of defense, very little attack. It did make sense, in a way. 

The "Big Three" as Lilika was fond of calling them, were illegal and students weren't supposed to ever use them or even know about them until the sixth year, so naturally the Death Eaters preferred them to all others. She could teach them a few of the more unconventional attack curses, but some of them were quite difficult and others required a lot of time to properly cast. Though, the Petrifaction curses might be a good choice for the students. They had been a family favourite and she knew them like the back of her hand. Choose from total, partial or specific body parts and you had a lovely way to disarm your opponent. Lilika felt an almost savage grin rising to her lips, but she quickly suppressed it. 

Teaching the words to a curse were easy enough, but actually practicing the spell itself…How could she do that? The Petrifaction curses were not life threatening, but they were extremely difficult to remove and the last thing she wanted was Madam Pomfrey chewing her out. The Temporary Blindness, the Shuddering Body and the Metamorph curses were all extremely effective attack spells, but the potential for damage if something went wrong in the hands of an inexperienced user was just too great. 

Lilika sighed. Practicing on a dummy was also out of the question since some of these curses required an animate target or at the very least something with living flesh… 

That was it! 

Lilika sat bolt upright, grinning. If she could do it, that would solve her problem nicely and she wouldn't have to worry about anyone getting hurt. The only difficultly would be in procuring the ingredients and remembering how to build the damn thing, but it was the answer to her problems. Relieved, she went to back to reviewing her curses. 

The Imperius could be fought and she planned to spend a lot of time on that with all her students. The Cruciatus could only be blocked, and that was extremely difficult. She doubted any of her students could master shield spells well enough to be safe from that, except maybe the most advanced students. There were techniques, however, that could be used to help resist the pain and keep one's mind clear and she would teach those as well. In fact, it was sort of her specialty. 

Avada Kedavra… couldn't be helped, in any way. 

There was something else Dumbledore had added, at the bottom of the list, almost as if it were an afterthought and her eyes had widened, then narrowed when she finally spotted it. 

_ I remember him saying something about trouble from that quarter. It's a pretty tall order to try and fill though...even older and more powerful wizards have trouble with that spell. _

Five minutes. 

"Gryffindor fifth years," she said aloud, and smiled. "I finally get to see the famous Harry Potter in person, then?" 

She leaned against her desk, tapping her wand into the palm of her hand as she watched the students file in. 

A tall redhead, a frizzy-haired brunette and a boy with unruly black hair and glasses as round and black as Lilika's own. They had been the last to come in. 

"Well," she said, breaking into the noises that always surrounded the last bits of settling into a class. "I suppose an introduction is in order. My name is Professor Jardin." 

They were looking up at her expectantly, a small ocean of pale faces in black robes. 

"I am the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor and I am here," she said, pacing back and forth in front of the room, "to teach you how to fight for your life and survive against Dark Magic. I'm sure you all know what conditions are like out there now. This course has become more important then ever before." She stopped pacing, a little embarrassed. She always tried not to pace when she talked, but she constantly ended up doing it anyway. 

"I will not tolerate any laziness in this class, nor will I tolerate anything less then total devotion to your studies. I may sound harsh, but the burden of your lives is on me. Voldemort and his followers need to exploit any weaknesses you might have in order to overcome you. I am going to make sure you _ have no weaknesses." _

As soon as the word "Voldemort" left her lips, everyone in the room became a little paler. Lilika saw that and winced. 

"Maybe the first thing we need to do is get over this "You-Know-Who thing," she said calmly. "You're just feeding his image, you know, by refusing to say his name. Makes him feel stronger, knowing he's got a whole bunch of people too damn scared to call him what he is. He's not going to swoop down on you if you say 'Voldemort'. It's not like he can hear his name spoken from anywhere in the world. In fact," she stopped and slapped both of her hands down on her desk, startling the class badly, "maybe we should start calling him what he truly is. Pathetic." 

"I can't believe this," she heard the redheaded boy mutter from the back of the room. 

"BELIEVE IT!" The class jumped and a pale, moonfaced boy let out a cry of terror and tumbled beneath his desk. 

Turning her wand in agitated fingers, she faced them once again. "I don't know about you, but I can't be the only who's suffered because of Voldemort. I refuse to give him anything more that what he's already taken, and should I ever meet the crazy bas… louse in person, I will very happily try and rip him apart with my bare hands." Her fingers seemed like they were trying to pull her wand apart. She clenched them. "I'd even eat him if that's what it takes to get rid of him." Lilika didn't suppress the angry smile rising to her mouth this time. "Snakes supposedly taste just like chicken, after all." 

Lilika stared at the students while the students stared back. Most looked worried, and not a few looked like they were watching a lunatic. 

Harry Potter, in the back with his friends, looked only slightly less pale and tense then the rest of the class. As she turned to look at him, his eyes met hers and she shifted her eyes almost immediately, shying away from his gaze. Lilika felt a little ashamed for getting so carried away in front of her class. After all, it wasn't as if it had happened just yesterday; it had been eleven years now and she was supposed to be rational and mature enough to be calm and objective. 

She wasn't. 

She looked back at Harry once more out of curiosity, met his eyes again, and was jolted by how calm and searching they seemed. _ Of course, this is probably all old hat to him, _ she thought and reddened slightly. He was still the most vulnerable any way you cut it, and she envied the resolve she could see in his green eyes before he looked away again, looking slightly flustered as he did. It looked like resolve, anyway. 

"All right, let's get to work," she called, getting their attention once more. "Let's have a little discussion on the most common types of attack and defense, ne?" 

*** 

"Longbottom, if you melt another cauldron, I will personally have a word with your grandmother, and I can only imagine how pleasant that will be," Snape said silkily, watching the boy turn a dull red, then white. "Detention for you." 

"Dismissed!" he threw at the rest of the class. 

He didn't bother to watch the students out. Most seemed to be muttering angrily under their breath and a few of the bolder ones were shooting their darkest and most evil looks at him, trying to burn him with their eyes. He snorted a little. If they honestly thought their pathetic rage was enough to frighten, affect him or move him…then they were even more hopeless then he thought. 

He turned and went into his dank, chilly and dismally appointed office, meaning to start a list of increasingly difficult potions his students would have to master for this year. Most, of course, wouldn't be anywhere up to the task. He sneered slightly as he sat down and took up a quill and parchment. Blind fools, most of them. He grunted. 

There was a soft scratching scrape on the stone floor by the door, and he looked up just in time to see the tiny Dark Arts teacher step into his office and shut the door firmly behind her. 

"Get out," he said casually, returning to his list. "I have no interest in speaking with you." 

"I need some things from you," she said. He could tell she was still by the door. 

"I don't care and I'm not under any obligation to help you in whatever bit of mischief you're planning. Now, get out of my sight." 

Silence for a few moments, then Snape looked up again to see _ that woman _ still by his door, her enormous blue eyes hard and narrow. Underneath her black hat her ridiculously pale pointed little face seemed to disappear entirely in shadow. 

Except for her eyes, which were almost glowing with hatred. He watched her comfortably. Hatred was as familiar to him as cauldrons. 

"Don't you get tired of being an asshole?" the woman said almost as softly and smoothly as he could. 

That did it. He slammed the quill down on his desk and got up to throw her out bodily, only to find her already in front of him, a roll of parchment thrust in front of his nose. 

Jardin looked up at him with wide, steady eyes. 

"You will give me the ingredients I need for my class, or I will take a very earnest delight in trying out my favourite hexes on your body, _ and _ I will tell the Headmaster just how _ exceedingly _ unhelpful you've been." 

Her words were bad enough, but the small, vicious grin she was wearing was enough to almost drive him over the edge to physical violence. He clenched his fists. 

Jardin's smile became a little more pointed. 

Snape could feel a vein throbbing in his temple, ready to explode and he yanked the parchment from her hands before she could say another word, causing her to stumble as she was knocked off balance. He smiled. 

"Let's see," he said, sitting back down and unrolling her list. She leaned over his shoulder to watch, and he gritted his teeth, trying to keep himself from wrapping his fingers around that little neck and throttling her until she was blue. He concentrated on trying to read her loopy handwriting instead. 

"Bat blood, extract of black mandrake, the nail clippings from a baby hedgehog…why I believe these are the ingredients for a very illegal type of Dark Magic. Something the Ministry would no doubt love to know, as they need all the Dark Wizards they can catch over there." He looked up at her, and bared his teeth in a smirk that usually made most people weak-kneed with terror. 

"I'm sure a year or two in Azkaban would do wonders for that proud attitude." 

"Isn't illegal," she said calmly, pointing to a spot on her list. "If you'd bothered to read further instead of insulting me, you'd have noticed I have no nightshade on my list. I'm not planning to let it move around on it's own. And it's not illegal if it can't move around on its own." 

His lips thinned and he threw the list back at her. "Be that as it may," he spat, "I wonder why you even bother to keep up this farce, when you're so clearly intimate with Dark Magic." He stood up so he could lean right into her face and watch those flat blue eyes, watch her reaction and try to pull her secret out of their blank depths. 

The professor looked angry and tried to move back, but he merely followed her, not willing to let her get away. Cornered by the wall, she reached up and took hold of his shoulder. "Get away!" 

It startled him badly, but he refused to show it or move. The woman's thin fingers were digging painfully into his shoulder and with a growl he yanked her hand away. 

"Don't you ever presume to touch me again," he hissed. 

"Then don't come so close, you great bullying git," she bit out in return. 

Her eyes were narrowed and completely empty of anything except loathing. 

Pure and simple loathing. He stepped back, but she stayed where she was. 

"You and I both know you're hiding something and once I find out every sordid little detail," he whispered, "I will personally and with great pleasure hand you over to the Dementors." 

Her face changed the instant he said _ the Dementors. _ She looked almost like she'd been struck and he savoured it. 

"Don't ever mention those horrid things again," she spat suddenly, her eyes getting even larger. "What do you know?" 

But she said the last in a rather subdued voice and as Snape looked at her, he could feel his own eyes widen. _ She was rubbing her left arm. _

"You stay here," he snapped, turning quickly to cover the rush of elation he felt. "And _ don't touch anything." _

She nodded rather limply and Snape went off to his private stores to get her ingredients, wearing an unusually wide grin all the while. 

He waited until it was very late and the castle entirely asleep before sneaking into her room. 

Snape knew all the secret passages of Hogwarts almost as well as Filch and it was something he prided himself on, his knowledge of all the ins and outs of the school. It could turn out to be critical for Hogwarts at some point, this knowledge, so he had no qualms about taking it, even without rights. 

It was a small and simple matter to slip into Ravenclaw and ever so conveniently, there was a passage that opened out right by the room she was staying in. 

He stepped inside and closed the door quietly, his eyes on the figure curled up in the blue four-poster. Her soft breaths told him she was fast asleep, but just to be sure, he pulled out his wand and lightly touched it to her forehead, muttering a Sleeping charm. 

Her breathing became deeper. 

_ Now. _

Snape moved around to the left side of the bed and pulled her arm out from underneath the tangle of cover, rolling back the sleeve of her white nightdress. He'd show everyone he'd been right all along about this stupid little girl. Voldemort really needed to find new ways of getting into Hogwarts, instead of constantly using the DADA professors. It was getting a bit played out. He ran his fingers lightly up her left arm, enjoying his victory. 

The skin underneath his fingers felt unusually smooth and he yanked her arm up, squinting at it in the moonlight. 

There was nothing there. 

Snape felt his joy turn to ashes, his mouth tasting of metal. It just couldn't…the way she'd been acting…it just _ couldn't... _

He tried every method he knew of to bring a Dark Mark to light, but her skin stayed stubbornly, annoyingly, pure. 

"You bitch," he hissed finally, frustrated beyond all measure and swept out of the room, nearly slamming the door behind him. 

As he left, Lilika turned over and smiled in her sleep. 

And from the shadows, where she'd been watching the entire time, the Grey Lady let out a memory of holding her breath and vanished. 


	4. Walking in the Forest of Memories

** Part 3: Walking in the Forest of Memories **

_ -No one can touch me, not even far away prowlers in the night.   
You may never know the real criminals.-_

**-serial experiments lain "distant scream"**

Lilika was in the middle of brushing her teeth when the Grey Lady faded in behind her and quietly said: "I think you should know Professor Snape was in your room last night." 

Upon hearing this little announcement, Lilika choked on her brush, then spat toothpaste all over the mirror. 

"He WAS?" she gasped, steadying herself on the rim of the sink as the mirror went into a fit. "Wonderful!" 

"Clean me off! This is disgusting!" the mirror screamed. Lilika hastily grabbed a tissue and began to wipe the irate mirror off, shaking with suppressed laughter. 

The Grey Lady looked completely shocked. "Why are you laughing? Don't you even care that he was invading the privacy of your bedroom? Him, an unmarried and a certainly unwelcome man invading a young woman's private room…it's unheard of! Indecent! Immoral! _ He was touching you!" _

"Was he now," Lilika said, suddenly feeling thoughtful. "Where exactly did this touching occur?" 

"Your upper arm. Right about here," the Grey Lady said, pointing a pale grey finger at Lilika's left arm while Lilika's smile continued to grow until it stretched nearly the length of her face. "Are you sure it was my left?" 

"Quite." Lilika snickered, feeling the calm and rosy glow of satisfaction that came from a job well done. "He fell for it! He bloody fell for it! Oh, Snape you may be brilliant, but you're just told me almost everything about you that I need to know! Well…almost everything." 

"I don't quite understand. He fell for what?" the Grey Lady asked, her face scrunched up into a delicate frown. 

Lilika waved her off. "It's honestly not that important in a world-shaking sense, ma'am. Though, I do have a question for you." 

"Go on." 

"Who's the best source of information in Hogwarts?" 

"What kind of information are you looking for? That is a rather broad question." 

Lilika shrugged. She left the bathroom and moved over to the bed to pull on her stockings and find her shoes. "Gossip-type information, maybe." She snapped the buckle of her right shoe into place. "Someone who knows the dirt on Professor Snape." 

The Grey Lady looked warily at her, one eyebrow raised in polite disapproval. "You're not trying to get him in trouble, are you? He was certainly in the wrong for sneaking into your room, and deserves punishment, but this…dirt you ask for sounds like you're trying to find something sordid. Professor Dumbledore does think quite highly of him, you know. I wouldn't try and start trouble just for personal satisfaction." 

"My lady, I'm not trying to get Snape into trouble," Lilika said, feeling just a tiny bit exasperated. She wasn't that petty. Well, only when someone really pissed her off. He _had_ started it. "It's important. I might need this information. It could have," she hesitated, "a bearing on my personal history." 

"I see," the Grey Lady said after a long, quiet moment. "Then I shall take you to see the Fat Friar." 

"Thank you so much," Lilika replied, smiling. "Can it wait for a moment? I'd like to write a short letter." The Grey Lady smiled slightly in return. 

"Think nothing of it. After all," Her pale, silvery eyes flicked skyward. "I have all the time in the world." 

Lilika grabbed a spare quill and a good piece of parchment and settled down at her desk. 

_ Dear Aunt Charlotte, _

How are you? It's been a while since I've heard from you, but that's probably more my fault then yours. After all, I didn't tell you I was moving. Plus, I forgot to thank you for the lovely dress. Unfortunately it's no longer in my possession, as a bear ate it off the line one day. It was still nice though. 

I'm sorry I can't tell you where I am now, but I think it's the best place. I feel safe here and hopefully I will be. 

Auntie, I have to ask even though I know you hate bringing up the past: Did you ever hear of someone named Severus Snape mentioned around the house? He's…around where I'm currently residing and he is, to be blunt, an asshole. Hated me from the moment he laid eyes on me. Anyway, I need to know anything you might know about him. I tested him yesterday and the reaction proved positive. I'm just going to confirm my suspicions. 

Please write soon! Much love to Uncle Jean. 

Love 

Lili 

She folded up the parchment and tucked it into an envelope, neatly lettering it: 

_ Madame Charlotte du Jardin   
17892 Rue de Baton   
Felice France   
_

"Ahhh," the Grey Lady said from over Lilika's shoulder. "Your aunt is French?" 

"No. Just moved there." Lilika pulled her shawl around her shoulders, fumbling with the clasp as she tried to pull the fabric tight around her. "I'll go up to the Owlery, then we can find the Friar." 

Finding the Fat Friar proved a little difficult, but after asking directions from at least seven different ghosts and three Prefects, they learned he was down by the kitchens. 

Lilika had stopped counting the passageways to the kitchen, as one looked the same as the other-twisting and poorly lit with bare grey walls. Following the Grey Lady also left her rather breathless, as the Lady swooped and dipped and occasionally went through walls without remembering her change was mortal and unable to follow without getting a face full of blood. 

"Ah, at last. Fat Friar! The Dark Arts Professor would have a word with you, if it is convenient." 

The Fat Friar looked up from where he was seated and beamed, his broad face stretching even wider. He looked almost entirely round from where Lilika was standing. Standing beside him was a thin, distinguished looking ghost with a large collar. 

"Of course! For you, my dear Lady, it is always convenient," the Friar said, smiling as he bowed over the Grey Lady's hand. The Grey Lady lifted an eyebrow, but Lilika caught her hiding a smile behind an upraised hand. The Friar then turned to her. 

"It's nice to meet you, my dear! I've been wanting to get acquainted with you ever since you ever since you arrived, but alas, I haven't had the time," the Friar said, then chuckled. "It's nice to have such a young lady around the castle for once…not to disdain the other teachers, but they are a bit on in years, very little fresh blood..." 

"Friar," the other ghost said in what sounded like a warning tone. He bowed to Lilika. "Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington, Gryfffindor's ghost, at your service." She bowed back and Sir Nicholas looked pleased. "You're really supposed to curtsey though, but it's nice enough." 

"Now, whatever did you want to have a word about, Professor?" the Fat Friar asked, offering her the chair he had been previously hovering over. Lilika took it. 

"What can you tell me about Professor Snape?" 

The Fat Friar rolled his eyes. "Oh, _ him. _ Lemony fellow, isn't he? Brilliant, brilliant, no doubt about that. Young too, to be both one of the greatest Potions Masters and head of Slytherin House. But a more unlikeable fellow I've rarely seen." 

"Young?" Lilika asked, feeling both eyebrows go up. _ This _ was interesting. She leaned forward. "How young exactly?" 

"Oh, he's miles behind the other teachers in terms of age," Sir Nicholas said casually. "He'll be thirty-six this coming year, I believe." 

"Thirty-six?" Lilika asked, disbelief creeping into her voice. Her hands clenched on the arms of the chair. "The bastard went on about how young I was and there's only a lousy _ eight year _ age difference? He's not exactly growing moss is he?" She sighed, feeling a little discouraged. It seemed like Snape had been trying to seize on any reason present to keep her out of Hogwarts. Maybe he had something against short, pale, brilliant girls with black hair. "Yet another reason to make his life a living hell." 

"Calm down," Sir Nicholas said, and plucked at her sleeve, causing her to shiver violently as his icy fingers brushed her arm. His touch left a small cold spot. "Sorry about that. But you can see Snape's not exactly a hot topic around here. The Friar puts up with Peeves, but can't even say much good about Snape--see what kind of fellow he is? Though I'm sure you already know, since you're threatening him with damnation already." 

Lilika frowned, feeling a little overwhelmed at all the things she still had no idea about. She hated being left out of things; there was nothing she despised more in the world then looking foolish in front of other people. "Who's Peeves? Another one of the ghosts?" 

The jaws of all three ghosts dropped almost simultaneously. 

"You mean you don't know? I would have thought Peeves would have gotten you right at the start-you being the new teacher and all…" 

"Incredible. I simply can't believe Peeves would waste such a golden opportunity. He is a poltergeist, my dear Professor and a most vexing one." 

"I don't like this. For Peeves to ignore fresh meat like this-beg pardon, Professor-either he's losing his touch…" 

"Which I very much doubt." 

"Or he's planning something even worse then usual." 

All three nodded, apparently in perfect agreement. and looked very grim. Even their colour seemed to have gone darker, from misty silver to a stormy, unpleasant grey. It made Lilika think of too-thick pea soup. 

"None of us can control him, you see," Sir Nicholas explained. "Only the Bloody Baron. Except you have to practically wait years to get one word out of the Baron." He ran a thin white hand over his face, sighing. "I honestly don't like this. Peeves delights in being the rudest and annoying creature in Hogwarts, and I've simply lost count at the number of times we've tried to get him thrown out, but Dumbledore is almost too forgiving at times." 

"Snape's almost the same case," the Friar rumbled and Lilika jerked back to attention, glad they'd finally gotten back to her topic, as her question was still unanswered. 

"What I really wanted to know about Snape…" She paused, and then plunged on. "Was he or was he not a Death Eater at some point?" 

The Friar nodded, his round cheerful face grim. "Aye. So you've heard. I don't believe it's wrong for you to know, as it's an open secret among the staff, but he was. Many years ago. Don't be worrying he's a threat to you-he gave that up long ago. Turned completely. Dumbledore trusts him and what Dumbledore trusts is good enough for me to trust." 

"I'm not afraid of him, but he seems to have taken a violent dislike to me," Lilika said, feeling sour. "Thank you. This confirms what I need to know." 

The Fat Friar and Sir Nicholas both turned to look at her. "You're not planning trouble, are you?" they asked, almost in unison. 

"No!" Lilika snapped, feeling her temper rise again, and tried to bring it back down by thinking of ice cream and Antartica. _ Why _ did everyone look and her and automatically think 'evil'? 

"I merely wanted to know because I have…issues with Death Eaters. As in I don't like them and I find it more then a little insulting that a former Death Eater thinks I'm evil and a threat to life and society and whatever for absolutely no reason other then being me. Snape is carrying himself with a rather high hand." 

The Grey Lady looked stern. "Professor Snape has indeed been going too far. I won't give you the particulars, but he seems to think Professor Jardin is a threat to Hogwarts for no reason that I can see. He's becoming almost paranoid." 

"Well, the Dark Arts professors have been rotters, almost all of them," Sir Nicholas said thoughtfully. "He actually does have a reason to be concerned…" 

"ARGGGGGH!!" She couldn't hold it in any longer. "I AM NOT EVIL!" 

Everyone jumped and Sir Nicholas held out his transparent hands in a gesture of peace, backing away slowly. "I didn't mean any insult my dear girl, of course you're not like those others!" 

"Enough," the Grey Lady said calmly. "If you have no further questions Miss Jardin, I suggest we end this interview. There's a small army of new arrivals coming in this afternoon and the other ghosts and I must tend to them." 

Lilika blinked. "New arrivals?" She couldn't possibly mean more students…could she? 

"New ghosts," the Grey Lady replied. "The Headmaster very generously lets stray ghosts live at Hogwarts." She sighed, her pale face becoming even longer with melancholy. "Poor things. Most of them come here because the place they were haunting was demolished, or they were forced out by unsympathetic mortals. Some come simply because they are lonely." 

"…I see," Lilika said. _ Hogwarts really is a refuge for everything. _

"Until we see each other again," the Grey Lady said and she, the Friar and Sir Nicholas promptly winked out, leaving Lilika to find her way back alone through the twisted corridors. 

Overheard in the hallway: 

"Can you believe that new Dark Arts professor, Harry? I thought maybe a lady would be normal, but they get weirder every year. Next year they'll just send us someone straight from St. Mungo's. Or a flesh-eating zombie." 

"I didn't think she was all bad. Just…intense." 

"Intense? Just intense? When she talked about eating You-Know-Who? I reckon that's enough proof she's a complete loony. Hey, Hermione. Do snakes really taste like chicken?" 

"Ron, don't be stupid! How would I know?" 

"You're the know-it-all of Gryffindor Tower, aren't you? I thought you might have come across it or something in one of the million books you've read in the last three days." 

"We're going to be late for Charms! We don't have time for this!" 

They left at a run, robes flapping behind them. 

She sighed and turned back to the tapestries she was rearranging for the new arrivals. 

*** 

"Home sweet home," Lilika said. 

The tiny cabin that she had lived in before coming to Hogwarts looked resentful and neglected, but she couldn't help that. After the attack, it was no longer a haven, just a reminder that she'd never really be safe. _ Maybe when I'm dead. _

She'd returned on the weekend to gather some more of her things and get a few ingredients she needed for her creation. She'd fled so quickly to Hogwarts that she'd only had time to pack one trunk and had a devil of a time flying it to the school on her broom. She'd ended up flying lopsided practically the whole time because of the extra weight. It had gotten even more fun when she'd ran into that storm and there was also that flock of ill-tempered geese... 

_ I was in a cold sweat the whole way, hoping Dumbledore would accept me. It's lucky I saw the ad in the Daily Prophet. It's lucky they have such trouble keeping the Dark Arts teachers. It's lucky I know so much about Dark Magic. It's lucky Dumbledore is so kind. _

I have too much luck. 

She was busy hauling an old truck from her cellar out to the yard. It wasn't actually a yard, just a small clearing in front of her house, and the woods crowded up on all sides beyond it, thick, dark and bristling. This deep in the woods, she'd thought no one would find her. Nobody had, for eleven years. 

"Extra trunk, check. Books, check. Spare broom, check. Dress robes, check. Pictures, check. Three jars of vole blood, check. Wine collection, check. Empties for recycling, check. Spare linens, check. That's everything." 

Her important papers-birth certificate, deeds to the family houses, deed to her house, address book, were in the pouch at her side. "That just leaves my wand." She'd put it down on the table in the kitchen when she had gone to get the trunk and she turned to go back into the house to get it. 

_ Hate to forget it. Hate even more to lose it. I don't fancy the thought of another meeting with Mr. Ollivander. _

Just as she started back to the house, a small, sharp noise like cracking ice came from behind her. Naturally, she turned around. 

Several trolls were coming up the pathway towards her, so she did the only sensible thing a wandless witch could do; turn and run like hell. Three steps later, the path was blasted apart in front of her eyes, sending her flying down hard into the dirt. Lilika let out a yelp as she hit the ground, feeling something bend in her ankle. 

A short, lazy snicker reached her aching ears and she managed to look up enough to see a hunched figure clinging crookedly to a broom floating a little above her house. 

"How did you know?" she screamed. "How DID YOU KNOW?" 

"Get her." 

The trolls began lumbering up the path before her, swinging their large, thick clubs back and forth like a pendulum. Lilika scrambled awkwardly to her feet, her breath coming short and painfully, and tried once again to make it back to her house. 

There was a small whistling sound, and several chunks of Dark Magic began hurtling out of the sky and smashing into the ground before her. Her heart tried in vain to claw its way out of her chest. 

_ No wand…no wand…I have no choice…I don't want to use that again… _

The first troll was going to reach her very soon. 

She thrust both hands out, sighed in resignation and tried very hard to do nothing but concentrate. _ "Enseigne." _ A pale glow leapt out from her hands and spread around her, shielding her. This was one of her more inspired inventions, born out of long hours of work and sheer necessity. A itchy, throbbing tingle was starting in the center of her hands and she winced. It _would_ be a perfect spell if it weren't for one side effect. Her hands felt like they'd been dipped in fire. 

That was the rub. 

The Dark Magic splattered harmlessly off the sides of her barrier while she concentrated on not throwing up. Smoke wisped up from her hands. _ Be strong…be strong… hold it up until the trolls get to it… _

It's just like last time. I can't get away. 

Lilika could feel the blisters rising on her hands, as the barrier continued to spread slightly until it touched the first troll. It slumped to the ground. 

The blood from her burning hands was running down her arms and sparkles danced in front of her vision. The acrid smell of burned flesh was rising around her, trapped inside the barrier and she gagged, her throat feeling like a giant's hand was squeezing it. 

Two more trolls to go. 

Lilika nearly bit off her lip from the pain. _ I'm not going to be able to use my hands for days. _

The last troll collapsed and Lilika managed to stand for a few more seconds before falling with it. Her hands were blackened, ruined and covered in blood. A few tears slid down her face, trickling off the end of her nose. The salt made her eyes burn. 

"Thank you. I wanted to make sure the last time wasn't a fluke. The Master will be pleased with me." The voice was hoarse and distorted, as if it had been forced into sounding much differently then usual. "You're very interesting." 

She managed to look up. The figure snickered once more and vanished with the same popping sound the trolls had used to appear. 

"You're welcome," Lilika whispered, feeling the grit from the ground pushing painfully into her cheek. She closed her eyes, felt the bitter taste of blood sliding over her tongue, and quietly passed out. 

*** 

She fumbled with her spoon, trying to get a good grip on it. It was so hard with your hands swathed in bandages. 

Lilika dropped her spoon, giving up, and it fell with a clatter to the table. She pushed her chair back and sat with her hands folded in her lap, trying very hard to ignore the other teachers' stares. She could feel her face heating up and turning red. 

There was a difference in being the center of attention for weakness. 

McGonagall was looking at her, eyebrows raised. "Not hungry?" she asked, forcing Lilika to turn her head and pay attention. 

"No," she almost whispered. Her sleeves weren't long enough to completely hide her hands and the bandaged tips were clearly visible. Lilika heard a sudden, sharp intake of air and knew McGonagall had seen. 

"My lord child, _ what happened to your hands?" _ McGonagall was suddenly in front of her, trying to pull her hands into view and Lilika gave up the battle, letting the older woman see, letting the whole table see. Probably the whole damned Hall could see too. She looked around, not wanting to meet anyone's eyes as most of the teachers flocked over to her fussing, and wondered where Dumbledore was. 

She didn't need this attention. 

Alone of all the teachers, Snape had not moved from his place at the table. His narrow black eyes were flickering back and forth rapidly, clearly trying to stare at her hands without anybody noticing. A dark and thoughtful frown crossed his face. 

"It's nothing, Professor McGonagall. Nothing at all," she said wearily. 


	5. All Souls' Eve: Basiatio

** Part 4 **

All Souls' Eve: Basiatio 

_ -A man who has lost his romance is like a devil- _   
**-mamono hunter yohko "not so fast, sexy girl"-**

The mound of clay currently sitting atop her desk wasn't very pretty, but she was working on that. 

"You're a rather ugly fellow, but you'll be quite fine once I finish with you," Lilika said cheerfully, carefully kneading more clay into the mix and trying not to aggravate her sore hands. Most of the ingredients had already been used; now all she had to do was knead, pound and shape it into a man. The control gem glinted off to her left, the firelight making it wink and shimmer fitfully. 

"The leg bone's connected to the shoulder bone, the shoulder bone's connected to the tailbone, the tailbone's connected to the anklebone," she sang, working more clay into her hands and then into the form in front of her. Lilika stopped kneading for moment and examined her hands once more. She had removed the bandages from her fingertips; they were raw and pink like newborn mice, but her palms had taken the brunt of the damage and were still wrapped. There were other reasons besides damage to keep her palms out of sight, however. 

"Maybe it's another blood related thing," she muttered to herself, squishing the pulpy mixture between her fingers and feeling it ooze out like mud. "It has to be. Just like with the _ mamorigami _ -it's only due to the family." Lilika squished a little more clay, thinking. She'd treated her bandages with a filth-repelling spell, so she could get her hands dirty without worrying, but she wasn't entirely sure just how long it would last. Better get moving then, before the clay hardened. 

There was a sharp sudden knock on the office door and she jumped. The clay in her hands went flying to a far corner of her office and she cursed, scrambling after it. She fervently hoped it wasn't one of her students; she had wanted so badly to surprise them. "Who is it?" The clay was nowhere to be found, and she dropped to her hands and knees to search for it. 

"Myself and Professor McGonagall," Dumbledore said cheerfully from behind the door. "We were merely passing through and wondered if we might observe for a bit." 

_ Oh? And whoever told you I was doing something worth observing? _ She felt her eyebrows contracting in anger, threatening to become one line on her face. _ It wouldn't be someone with the initials S.S by any chance? _

She bit her tongue and waved the door open. "Of course, come in." 

The door creaked open, and Dumbledore and McGonagall edged their way around it, carefully trying not to step on anything. The little office was rather full to the brim. She'd pushed her desk to the center so she could move around it more easily and piles of ingredients, stacks of book, several small smokeless fires and a large, battered cauldron that was currently occupying the hook where her fuchsia had been hanging were all jostling each other for space. 

The wayward clay had snuck under one of the filing cabinets, and Lilika rose from her kneeling position with it clenched in her hand, apologizing. Dumbledore told her not to be silly. Professor McGonagall had not moved from the tiny clear space by the door and had an expression of what looked like deep apprehension on her face. 

"Minerva, you really must come and take a better look," Dumbledore said as he circled her desk, peering with great interest at her half-finished homunculus. "It's quite fascinating. I don't believe I've seen one of these in about fifty years." 

"I can see quite well from here, Albus," McGonagall replied tartly. "My eyes haven't failed yet." 

Dumbledore chuckled, his golden spectacles nearly falling off his long nose as he bent even closer to the mass on her desk. Lilika groaned, seeing some of the fluid from her creation running off the desk and onto the floor, making small dark spots on the pale tile. "I'd hate to accuse you of not having a sense of adventure, Minerva." 

"Adventure, nothing!" McGonagall snapped suddenly. "You can poke and prod all you want, but I remember what happened with the last golem someone brought here. Fifty years ago, wasn't it? Ran amuck, didn't it? It took eight of the staff to stop it and it wounded fifty people and nearly killed its creator!" She took a deep breath, seemingly to calm herself. "That's why they were outlawed." 

Dumbledore sighed, shaking his head. "He was such a pleasant fellow too-only trying to do a demonstration for his new company and the thing just upped and went mad on him." 

"It can't go mad on me," Lilika said, finally able to break into the conversation. She pushed the loose sleeves of her robe up, as they kept dropping down and wanting to cover her wrists. Served her right for wearing a hand-me-down. "The old golems used nightshade as an integral component and that's what gives it the ability to move and react on its own. Take out the nightshade, add a little more verbena, and it will only move when I want it to. I'll have to bind it to me first of course." She moved back to her desk and worked the errant clay into the form. "It won't do anything now anyway, it's not even done." 

McGonagall gave her a rather suspicious look, but finally moved a little closer. Both professors continued to watch as she added, mixed and pressed the golem into shape. "No one besides me will be able to use it. Unless they happened to know really powerful magic," she said, trying to be reassuring. McGonagall did not look convinced. 

Lilika was just finishing the left arm when a prickle hit her between her shoulder blades, causing her to stop molding for a moment. _ Oh hell. _ She knew that particular feeling quite well; the nasty little tingle that came whenever she was being watched by someone who greatly disliked her. It felt a little like a finger jabbing her hard in the back. She sighed in resignation. It was almost as if she was back home again, her brother watching her from the door with malice fairly sticking out of his eyes. 

"I always knew he was a keyhole watcher," she muttered. 

"Excuse me?" McGonagall said with lifted eyebrows. 

"Oh, nothing," she said and quickly turned her head. 

Dumbledore was watching her, and she wondered if he might have heard her. She flushed and Dumbledore gave her what might have been a wink. 

"Severus! Why don't you come in and join us?" Dumbledore called through the door. 

_ Ehhh? _

Sure enough, the door slid open and Snape was looking around the edge of the doorway, his usual sneer firmly in place. "I don't believe there's room," he said softly, staring at the things scattered around her office as if they were pieces of garbage strewn about a landfill. Lilika bent over her arm again, letting her long hair fall over her face and earnestly hoping it would camouflage her grinding teeth. 

"Nonsense," Dumbledore said, making a space between Lilika and himself. "There's plenty of room; we'll just have to squeeze together." 

Lilika groaned, very, very quietly. 

When she lifted her head from the arm again, Snape was standing at the far end of her desk, watching her with a odd, closed expression. His face seemed whiter then normal. "Is there a problem, Professor Snape?" she said evenly. 

"No problem," he said, his black eyes flat and unreadable. "I'm merely surprised that you aren't dressed with your usual…display. Except," and he pointed a long, bony finger directly at the large ruby pendent over her heart "for _ that. _ " 

She put a hand to the stone, trying her damnedest to stay calm and not fly at him like a child. "It's an heirloom." 

One of his eyebrows went up. "So it is. And by the way, that robe is far too large for you," he said smoothly and slipped in besides Dumbledore while a drop of sweat trickled down her side. "Headmaster, I can't understand why you are letting this little project continue as far as it has. These creatures are illegal, and I can foresee numerous hazards arising from having one here, yet you are allowing this to go forth…" 

His voice dissolved into a hazy murmur as she fought to stay calm. Her fingers came up and traced the end of the gold crescent dangling from the ruby, fingers that were now slick with sweat. _ I've been really, really stupid. _

Lilika concentrated on shaping the face, trying to keep her hands from trembling. Snape was putting on a great show of listening to Dumbledore explain his view on things while staring at her all the while with a barely disguised look of triumph on his face. _ Jesu, he obviously knows something. _

_ I will NOT be driven away by him! By God, if I could survive sixteen years of Charles and Mother, I can handle him! He will not make me feel like an idiot! Aaaarrggggh! He's making me feel twelve again, the bastard! Slippery, slimy, weaselly disgusting little prat! Go take a bath! _

She managed to calm herself through many subtle deep breaths until she could smile again. Lilika took up the control gem-a particularly fine bloodstone she had been given for her fourteenth birthday-and pressed it gently into the golem's forehead. 

"There!" she said and smiled. The other three broke off their conversation to look at her. 

Lilika dragged a chair around to face her desk and climbed onto to it. "That just leaves the binding. Here we go." 

Dumbledore was smiling broadly, apparently enjoying himself a great deal. McGonagall hadn't lost the apprehensive look and was actually edging slightly behind Dumbledore. Snape had a nasty look of _ something _ lurking around his face. She couldn't tell exactly what it was; anger, hatred or maybe even fear, but whatever it was, it intensified when she leaned forward to touch the gem. 

_ "Oi, omae. Mezameru yo!" _ Hey you, awaken. 

"I thought it was supposed to be commanded in Latin. Or Hebrew," McGonagall said, forgetting enough of her fear to peer around Dumbledore. Lilika wondered just exactly what had happened fifty years ago to make McGonagall-a women who seemed made of steel-to act like this. 

"Too common," Lilika replied. "Almost every wizard knows those languages, so I picked a less common one. My father drilled me in Japanese after he took a trip there, so it just leapt to mind. I was originally going to use Chinese, but I've forgotten most of what I learned." 

They waited in silence for a few minutes. 

"Perhaps you've lost your touch…" 

A deep red glitter skittered across the face of the bloodstone and the limbs trembled. 

Lilika laughed, out of pure exultation and the sight of the bitter frown on Snape's face. _ "Saa, omae wo kite kudasai yo! _ Say, you come here. 

The golem's entire body shuddered. Then, it began to rise, slowly and stiffly like an old man, turning until it faced her. 

_ "Yatta! " _ Lilika gave up her self-control and jumped up and down on the chair gleefully. 

How could Dumbledore let her go through with this? Snape had lost count of the number of times he'd bitten his tongue, trying to keep his words even and neutral, not for _ her _ sake, but for the Headmaster's. First the damned werewolf and now this. 

No, it had actually started with that idiot Lockhart, but the Headmaster had been left with no other options at the time. It hadn't been his his fault. Quirrell had been clever enough to lay low for a few years. The werewolf and a girl who though she was trying so cleverly to hide, but whose every movement, every word screamed out her origins. He bit his lip, thinking. 

When she turned out to be just like the others, Dumbledore would have to listen to him. 

He sneered at a greenish jar of pickled rat brains on the wall in his office, feeling his robes swish behind him as he paced back and forth, the old tile cracking faintly under his footsteps. The Halloween Feast was only a few hours away and he needed to prepare soon. 

"Does she honestly think," he whispered to himself, "that she's getting away with anything? Blatantly wearing the seal like that? True, only a few people would know what it means, but if you have any brains at all, _ you don't wear anything that advertises who you truly are if you are trying to hide!" _

It wasn't just that, it was her accent, her archaic and rather ornate way of dressing-a style used only by the oldest families these days. His lips twisted in disgust. Her intimacy with the Dark Arts. It all served to expose her in the end. 

Exposed...Snape swore violently and pinched his arm hard, trying to drive away the image of that woman leaning over her desk, her black hair drawn up and falling over her shoulder. Her robe was too big and as she leaned over she'd given him an excellent view of white skin so pale he could see the blue veins in it and that damned ruby just drawing his attention ever closer to her br... 

_ Enough! _ he snapped. _ I don't have time for this! _ He yanked his chair back and sat in it, clenching his fingers hard on his temples and thought. 

If he shut his eyes very tightly and carefully peeled back the layers of his memory, easing his way back before the blackness, the tragedy, back to when he was twenty, he could see her standing there, her red cloak billowing around her, black hair drawn into braided loops tied with red ribbon. _ I knew I had seen her before. _ The blood had run into her eyes and she had never blinked once. 

Snape stood up and after a little more thought, slowly and deliberately made his way over to a dust covered cabinet in the farthest, darkest corner of his office. 

This was where his unpleasant memories lurked, things of his from the time "before", things he'd rather forget but could not afford to let go. So, he had done the simplest and most reasonable thing and shut them away where he would never have to look at them. With tightened lips he unlocked the bottom drawer and felt around in it, rather then look, for the thing he was seeking. His fingers closed on a folder and he drew it out and shook it off. 

Inside this folder were two newspaper clippings-one from a Muggle paper, the other from the Daily Prophet. He had cut them out at the time because of the sheer irony of it all. 

The Muggle paper read: TRIPLE MURDER STUNS COUNTRY. 

The Daily Prophet read: DOUBLE MURDER STUNS WIZARDING WORLD. 

In each of the papers, there was a single picture of a young girl, identified as the last remaining member of the family. Neither paper seemed to know much about her; Andrew had kept her under wraps, after all. He smiled bitterly. In the Muggle picture she was huddled in the arms of a woman identified as her aunt; the picture in the Daily Prophet was much the same, except the girl kept trying to hide her face and move out of the picture. 

Yes, this was her. A small name change and there you had it. He ran his thumb over the girl's picture as the clock behind him struck six. 

Lilika ducked to avoid another bat swooping down at her and smiled. The Halloween Ball was nice so far, with lots of happy chattering students and girls giggling together in corners, and the decorations were fantastic. She'd never seen such large pumpkins before. Magic, all of it. 

She drank a little more mulberry wine, feeling pleasantly light-headed. She'd noticed quite a few couples furtively slipping away as the night grew longer and she was happy for them. Her own memory of being in a bush floated up and she laughed out loud, causing not a few people to stare at her. She waved at them merrily, uncaring, and nearly dripped all her wine over her good robes as she did. She cursed inadvertently as she brushed at her robes. She wasn't so far gone with drink that she didn't notice making a mess. Lilika paused for a few moments to collect herself, and then decided to go outside. 

The night air was much cooler on her face and neck and she stood in the breeze gratefully, letting it ruffle her hair. She'd taken her hair out of its customary braids for the evening and let most of it fall down her back, only keeping two small braids wrapped around the top of her head. Some of the teachers had looked a little taken aback when she had appeared in her good robes at dinner. They were damned heavy, and maybe the gold and silver embroidery _ was _ a little much, but whatever. She looked good in them and they hadn't hurt her on the dance floor. 

Dumbledore had grabbed her first, followed by Hagrid, whose enormous size and enthusiastic style of dancing had kept her moving very quickly to avoid being crushed. Flitwick had been next, quite pleased to finally find a partner who didn't tower over him the way the others did. After Flitwick she had taken a break, drunk a few glasses of wine and watched the other teachers and the students dance. 

Snape hadn't been dancing of course. He'd sat there glowering during dinner and skulked off once the dancing had started and no one had seen him since. Maybe he'd gotten lost in the Forbidden Forest and eaten by something. She grinned and drank some more. 

She was just rounding the fountain, admiring the gentle twinkling of the fairy lights when there was a flurry of little shrieks from up ahead. A pretty girl in lavender robes dashed past her, crying, followed closely by a stocky brown-haired boy who looked just as upset as the girl, although he wasn't crying. He looked close to it though. 

"Ten points from Hufflepuff, Smalley! And ten points from Gryffindor Miss Hankery!" a familiar and entirely unwelcome voice snarled from up ahead. A small explosion followed, then more shrieks, more tears and more people. 

"Ten points from Ravenclaw, Patil! And ten more points from Gryffindor Mr. Finnegan! The next time I catch anyone it will be twenty!" 

Snape was so busy scaring the hell out of people that he actually didn't notice when she slipped up behind him. "What are you, the Enforcer? Let the children have a good time, for God's sake." 

He whipped around and glared at her, his large nose twitching. "They are breaking the rules and I don't give a damn what you think," he hissed. 

She glared back. "Never been in the bushes, have you?" she inquired sweetly, smiled pleasantly and turned away, leaving him to fume behind her. 

"And maybe you've spent too much time in the bushes," Snape bit out in reply as soon as her back turned. 

"Just WHAT are you insinuating?" she yelled, once his meaning had penetrated her fogged brain. Maybe she had drunk a little too much. Snape was already sweeping away up the path before her, not bothering to wait for a reply. She started after him, swaying a little on the damp grass. 

"There are some insults you just can't ignore," she declared, and followed him. 

He was checking the small rooms off the main hall now; the children were starting to get sneaky. He'd already chased away four groups, many of them Gryffindors and had taken a small but vicious pleasure in taking points from them. Rules were rules, after all. 

Snape had just entered the last room on the right when a familiar and entirely unwelcome voice spoke from behind him. "Shtill at it, Shnape?" 

He nearly jumped, but he would not give her the pleasure of seeing him startled. "You're drunk," he said, in a tone meant to convey obvious disdain. 

"I'm not drunk," she said, emphatically. "Just...happy." Her words were slow and carefully formed. "I am not drunk," she said again, more firmly this time and he was surprised at how much more controlled her speech had become. 

" Whatever you are, you're not wanted here," he said tersely, feeling his fingers tighten on his wand. "Get away." 

She raised her eyebrows and came closer, her skirts rustling slightly. "I have a perfect right to be here." A glass of wine was still clutched in her hand, the deep red liquid sloshing a little as she walked. He stood very still and glared at her; she didn't pick up the hint and continued to move closer until she was no more then a foot away from him. He tensed. 

"I suppose you can't help your breeding," he said lazily. 

"What?" She looked confused and also a little angry. Good, she was finally getting the message. 

"That entitled attitude of yours. Comes from having your every wish fulfilled, doesn't it? The noblewoman may change her name and clothes, but she can't change who she is," he said softly, and moved to go past her. 

_ "Wait." _

Her face had turned a dark, dangerous shade of red and her voice was little more then a whisper when she finally spoke. "Just what do _ you _ know?" 

"I know you look very much like your sister when your hair is up. That was Maida's old robe you were wearing before, wasn't it? She was taller then you." 

"Was, yes, was." Her voice had tightened and gone all shaky. "Of course you knew my sister, of course." 

"Get out, little snippet, before it's too late. We don't need your kind here at Hogwarts. I know your family's...tendencies. There are" and his voice tightened involuntarily on the next words "spots that don't come off." 

"My kind? My kind?" She was openly shaking now, her face a deep, dull red, fists clenched and her glass lay forgotten on the floor. "Just what the hell do you mean by my kind? I have no blood on my hands. My kind? What about your kind, Snape? Death Eater? Does your Mark still burn? Do you ever think about the people you killed, screaming and dying? _ What gave you that right?"_

The last few words tumbled out on a shriek. 

"Keep your voice down!" he hissed, a little shaken but not willing to show it. Her breathing was ragged, her head down. 

"I don't want to look at something like you," she whispered, her voice barely audible. Her eyes were fixed on the floor. "And you have the damned nerve to preach to _ me _ ." 

When he finally controlled himself enough to speak again, his voice was very, very quiet. 

"So you know about that, do you? It doesn't matter. Dumbledore knows me, Dumbledore trusts me, I have earned my place here. You, on the other hand, are a spoiled brat, an unknown quantity and a dangerous liability." He gripped her skinny shoulders, forced her head up and stared her right in her small face, gone white with terror, leaning in towards her. His voice slid into a hiss. "I can just imagine what people would say if they found out we were harboring a Woo..." 

She went completely, rigidly still as he spoke and just as he was about to name her for what she truly was, the girl made her move. Her hands whipped out and wound themselves painfully into his hair, yanking his face down to hers. 

"Shut up," she said flatly, and kissed him. 

A deep and very hot anger like nothing she'd ever before felt was flowing through her as she grabbed him. It felt like molten iron was running slow and bright through her veins, this anger, and it cleared her mind. _ He knows, the bastard knows and I have to shut him up before he can tell everyone. _

So she kissed him. 

It wasn't quite as unpleasant as she feared. His mouth was thin, but his lips were warm and firm and his body had gone completely rigid the instant she'd touched him. She'd snuck a glance at his face through her lashes and his eyes were plastered open with the shock. Hopefully it would drive the words right out of his mouth and his mind. Lilika had to stretch up on tiptoe to reach him and her legs were cramping. Just a little more... 

His thin hands were still clutching her shoulders and she was more surprised then anything that he hadn't shoved her away yet. 

She could taste pumpkin juice on his lips and she could smell what he'd been working with earlier, some kind of herb, dry and tart. It was wrong for this kiss to be so unremarkable. 

He shuddered, as if in pain. 

Good. She wanted it to burn. 

She continued tugging on his hair until their foreheads touched, then opened her eyes with her most menacing look. For a moment they stared at each other, then Snape squeezed his eyes shut. 

His fingers dug into her shoulders with bruising force and she broke the kiss as he shoved her back, making her fall, and scrambled away from her, holding a hand to his mouth as if he'd been bitten. He was breathing very rapidly. 

"You vile wench," he finally hissed, his voice slightly higher then normal. "How dare you?!" His voice rose until it was almost a shriek. _ "How dare you?! _

He whirled around and stormed out of the room. He left almost at a run, in fact, his black cloak flapping behind him. 

Lilika stayed on the floor, feeling bruised, battered and very slightly shaken. "Maybe he understands now. If he tries to tell anyone, I'll have to threaten to screw him next," she muttered and smiled a little, painfully. She touched her mouth again. 

"That was interesting." 


	6. Magically Made

** Part 5: Magically Made **

_ -"A snake!…and it passes   
but eyes that had glared at me   
stay in the grasses."- _   
**Takahama Kyoshi **

She was in the middle of a deep and happy sleep when something began prodding her from the outside of the bedclothes. 

"Go'way," Lilika muttered and tried flipping over to escape. 

The thing merely followed her to the other side of the bed and began poking once more. 

"Give me five more minutes," Lilika pleaded, eyes still squinched shut. If she didn't see what it was or what it wanted, she wouldn't have to get up. 

The prodding ceased. Silence for a few moments. 

Two icy fingers slid inside the blankets and wrapped themselves firmly around her big toe. 

"Kooraaaaa!" Lilika yelled as her toe went numb from the touch. She bent forward, cradling her abused toes and glared at her visitor. "I didn't know you also functioned as an alarm clock." 

The Grey Lady was as serene as still water and perched right on the end of her bed. "Awaken. I don't think you wish to be late for your students. Or did you forget today was Monday?" 

"Monday morning, first period, Slytherin fifth years. Naturally, the first thing I want to see after a hangover is Draco Malfoy's blond rat face," Lilika grumbled. "Halloween parties serving alcohol on Sunday nights before classes should be outlawed." 

"The solution is not to become drunk in the first place." 

Lilika was over in the bathroom splashing her face with ice water and pretended not to hear that. 

"Whilst we are on the subject of Slytherins," the Grey Lady said, in a tone that was far too casual, "the Bloody Baron informed me that Professor Snape was thrashing about his rooms last night, making quite a racket. And swearing-swearing dreadfully and quite audibly to anyone within a thousand feet." 

She was struggling with the fastenings of her favourite black robe and therefore was able to remain silent for several seconds. When she finally pushed her head through the opening at the neck, the first thing she saw was the Grey Lady looking at her quite pointedly. 

"I thought the Bloody Baron doesn't talk," Lilika mumbled, pinning the seal onto the white ruffle that decorated the front of her robe. The Grey Lady did not change expression. 

"He does when he wants to," she replied. 

"I didn't do anything. Anything serious, anyway." 

The Grey Lady exhaled a surprisingly long time for someone that didn't breathe. Her face wore the look of a weary mother questioning a child who frequently told tales. "Why must you goad him?" she asked quietly, and Lilika flinched from the soft disapproval in her tone. "He is the one with the power here-not you. The Dark Arts professors are expendable. Heads of Houses are not. By taunting him you invite his retaliation." 

"I knew you wouldn't understand," Lilika snapped. To her extreme displeasure and humiliation she felt tears rising in her eyes. "He was the one who started this whole mess, not me. I am perfectly innocent. When someone attacks you first, you are entitled to attack in return. He hated me right from the start, wants me gone. I can't go-I have nothing." She sat back down on the bed and huddled, drawing her head to her knees. "If I go, I die. I may be a genius with curses, but Voldemort's out of my league at the moment. Or I can bury myself away from people once more. Live out the next hundred or so years completely alone. Is that what you want?" A tired, sick feeling rose in her throat and her chest felt as if she'd been jabbed hard in the heart. 

An icy shock rippled down her arm and she looked up to see the Grey Lady hovering behind her, a silvery hand on her right shoulder. "Dumbledore would never turn you away if that is the case," the Grey Lady whispered. "You know that. You misjudge me. I merely want you to walk softly around matters like these. Don't trip yourself up because of misplaced pride." 

Lilika rolled her eyes slowly to the ceiling. "I can't help myself," she replied just as quietly. "Because of what he is." 

The Slytherin fifth years were chattering loudly back and forth as they waited for their turn on the golem. The Slytherins were the one house who never had any trouble or hesitation with hexes and curses-they positively gloried in them. The few who weren't that proficient were goaded and hounded by their more talented classmates until they gained more skill. Just breathing the same air as a large group of Slytherins made Lilika feel queasy. They were just all so eager to run off and become Junior Death Eaters. It fairly stuck out of their eyes.   
And of all the Slytherins from first year to seventh, none had more skill or enthusiasm then Draco Malfoy. 

The first day, when she had read his name off the register she'd had to go back and read it again twice to make sure it was the same name. Of course it was; Lucius would have had a child at some point, to carry on the precious Malfoy bloodline. The big joke was that the truly old families, her own among them, considered the Malfoys a bunch of pretentious upstarts and too nouveau riche to be giving themselves such airs. "After all," people would mutter together at parties as she lurked nearby, "that family's only two hundred years old and carrying on like they're a thousand!" 

What was surprising was that the child was Hogwarts; based off all the times she'd heard Lucius ranting off to her father about the "old fool", or how children of their kind should either be privately tutored or sent to Drumstrang. A Malfoy in her class meant she had to walk very, very carefully around him lest he mention the new Dark Arts professor offhand at the dinner table -"a really short young thing with black hair and blue eyes"-and then have Lucius think: "Hmmm. That sounds like Andrew's youngest, the little runt that tried to kill me. I really must go and pay a visit."   
It certainly wasn't out of any concerns for spoiled Mister Malfoy's sensibilities and several times she'd had enormous difficulty restraining herself from hexing him into a frog and giving him to Snape to make potions out of. 

Oh yes, he just happened to be Snape's pet as well. 

Today the class was practicing a mild version of the Metamorph curse, that interesting spell that let you turn your enemies' body parts into something entirely different-like a fish for a example. Of course the curse wasn't permanent (although she had found a way to do that) but the trauma factor of seeing your arm turn into a gasping cod couldn't be denied. 

She was sitting on a desk at the back, watching the giddy group cast it in turn. The golem roared loudly every time it was correctly hit, which added to the students' enjoyment, although watching it sprout tentacles was just as fun. 

"Miss Parkinson, that was interesting. Not just anyone would have thought of a garden hose. Mr. Crabbe, you are next." 

Crabbe lumbered up to the golem and she drifted off again. Crabbe and Goyle together weren't worth a single Sickle in her opinion, and would most likely spend the rest of their lives toadying to Malfoys. And so would their sons and their sons after them... 

Lilika blinked and came back to reality upon hearing the golem's roar. Crabbe had managed a goldfish. Ummm... 

The line was growing shorter by the minute when she finally realised Malfoy hadn't yet taken a turn. His pallid little self was still over at a desk in the far corner, his chin planted on his hands. He didn't seem to be watching the rest of the class. 

Usually he was the first in line. How peculiar. 

She took a stroll over to him, stopping in front of the desk. "Decided not to work today, Mr. Malfoy?" she asked. 

Malfoy didn't lift his head. He muttered something indistinct into his cupped palms. 

"What was that? I didn't quite catch it." Lilika leaned forward on the desk until she was nearly level with his face, her eyebrows raised. "You are to look at me when I ask you a question, Mr. Malfoy." 

"I said I'm not feeling well, Professor _ Jardin," _ he spat. There were dark blue circles rimming his eyes, and his skin had a nasty grayish white tint to it, like something that had been grown underground, never seeing the light. 

Lilika straightened up slowly, folding her arms across her body. _ What was that? _ Draco had always been snarky and slippery, whispering when he thought she didn't notice (and sometimes when she did) but never outright rude. 

"It's true, you do look unwell," she affirmed, tilting her head to study him better. "And you are usually much more attentive to your work then this, so I will let that pass." She paused. "However, that doesn't excuse your rudeness. I will not be spoken to like that. Ten points from Slytherin and if you are ill, you will go and see Madam Pomfrey immediately." 

He sprang up from the chair; shoving it backwards so hard it splintered against the desk behind it, and left the room quickly, walking with a heavy tread. The Slytherins watched him go in mute surprise. 

She looked at them. 

"Well, what are the rest of you waiting for? You still have work. The faster we get this done, the faster I can take a nap. I have a splitting headache." 

Finally free of the Slytherins, she began the long climb back to Ravenclaw Tower, where her bed, pillows and extra-large bottle of aspirin waited patiently. Her head had been bothering her from the instant she'd gotten up, making her exceedingly crabby. Lilika gritted her teeth and pressed on. 

_ Yes, getting lectured by the Grey Lady and then watching Future Death Eaters Anonymous is great for one's mood. Mondays suck. _

Three steps away from the door into Ravenclaw she was attacked. 

Knobby hands grabbed her bun and yanked, sending hair pins skittering down the corridor like metallic rain. Lilika shrieked, clutching her head defensively as all of her hair swung down into her face, leaving her blind. "WHAT the HELL?" 

"Hehehehee!" a voice chuckled gruesomely from behind her. "Hello little mistress, hello hello! Didn't think old Peeves was gonna leave you alone, eh?" 

"Peeves?" Lilika said, trying in vain to work her way out from underneath the curtain of her hair. When she'd finally gotten it all out of the way, she saw a squat and bent grey fellow smirking at her from mid air. "What a pleasure." 

The misshapen little man just grinned long and nastily at her as he flipped upside down and peered at her from between his legs. "Ickle Dark Arts girl. Thought she could get away from Peeves, did she? Ahh, but Peeves has something she'll like." 

She stared at him. He thumbed his nose at her. 

"What does that mean?" 

Peeves closed one eye. "That would be telling." He smirked again, did a double back flip and vanished, leaving her staring at empty air. 

_Now I can add being molested by Peeves to my list of ways not to start a morning._

Finding all her hair pins seemed to be a lost cause, so Lilika yanked her hair into a ponytail, entered Ravenclaw and threw herself on her bed. 

She was asleep in minutes. 

The Hufflepuffs were just cleaning up when they heard the noise. Most of them stopped and stared at each other, uneasy, leaving their dirty cauldron and vials on their desks. 

"What is this? Why aren't you cleaning?" Snape snapped, coming out of his supply room with a fresh batch of deathwatch mushrooms. He sat them down with a violent thump on one of the tables set against the wall and turned to glare at each one of them. "Hufflepuffs shirking their duties-I believe it must be a sign of the Apocalypse." 

"Sir, we heard something," one of the girls ventured timidly, clasping her hands in front of her as if they could give her protection. 

Snape fought down an overwhelming urge to yell. _ Yes, I need more problems in my life. _ "Unless the noise you heard is that of the dungeon roof collapsing," he ground out, slowly and distinctly, "you are to continue doing what you have been told." 

A low and distant rumble came from above. The cauldrons rattled slightly. 

Everyone except Snape jumped. 

"There it is again," one of the boys whispered. 

Snape stared at the ceiling along with the students, ears straining to make out the noise. Well, standing around staring wasn't going to help anything, he decided and calmly pulled his wand out, aiming it at the ceiling. 

A burst of sparks glanced off the dungeon roof as the room of students shrieked and flung themselves en masse under the desks and tables. He alone stood unmoved and unafraid in the center of the room. 

"Well, it certainly isn't my ceiling," he said, feeling satisfied, but his satisfaction promptly faded at the sight of his pitiful charges cowering around him. Some had even put their cauldrons over their heads like helmets. He slid his wand back into his sleeve, grimacing as he felt a resurgency of his usual impatience. "Fools. GET up, all of you!" 

The students had just started to tentatively rise to their feet when the rumbling came again, louder this time and accompanied by a new sound. 

Screams. 

He took out his wand again. 

"You are all going to the Great Hall," he said quietly. "Move." 

Overheard in the hallway: 

Pure chaos. It made one's blood sing. 

_ "How could you do this to her? To me? God damn you to everlasting hell woman!"_

"Mein Gott, help me. Protect my lady mistress," Clara had whimpered, hands over her mouth. 

_"Crucio!" _

Lilika was in the middle of one of her old familiar nightmares, so it took her a moment to awaken groggily and realise the screaming was not part of the dream this time. She pushed up on her elbows, still half asleep. _Where's the noise?_

Her ears told her downstairs, away from Ravenclaw. _Students are screaming..._

She jumped out of bed and tripped over her shoes. Tugging them on with a stream of curses, she ran out the door past a huddle of scared-looking Ravenclaws that had gathered in the common room. 

"Nobody leave!" she yelled as she dashed past, racing for the door out of the Tower. "Unless the castle's on fire," she added as an afterthought as she was hanging halfway through the door. 

The screaming was growing ever louder as she turned the corridors and by the time she was nearing her office, a panicked rush of students almost overwhelmed her trying to get away from whatever it was, forcing her to cling to a suit of armor to keep from being trampled. "What is it? Where is it?" she yelled, but the students were too busy trying to get away. They were white with terror, their eyes almost bulging out of their faces. _This can't be too good. _

Lilika finally managed to push her way through the horde, ending up in a corridor that opened up just past her classroom. 

"Oh, holy fucking shit," she whispered. 

It moved forward, slowly and easily and quite independently. Her golem was walking down the hall with deliberate, purposeful steps. Behind it were large holes smashed into the stone walls where the creature had clearly run its' fists and it was raising those fists again to smash a statue of a humpbacked wizard. Stone flew everywhere and dust with it, blinding her and making her cough. 

Students were still visible in front of it-mostly their backs as they were all running away. Thankfully the golem was too slow to catch them, but it definitely looked as if it was trying to follow them. "Hey!" she yelled, trying to distract it as she fumbled for her wand so she could cast a Freezing Charm. _That should get it..._

"Help!" a voice called from not that much further up, high and wavering. "Please help!" 

The golem's head turned and Lilika realised with a dull sense of terror that it was looking for the students. Just visible under the golem's left arm, only a little ways down the corridor was a blond, pigtailed First Year girl, shaking so rapidly it seemed she was vibrating. 

"One of those rocks struck my leg!" she shrieked, voice rolling with fear. "I CAN'T MOVE!" 

Lilika was already ducking under the golem's arm, bile in her throat from fear. She snatched at the girl, her hands slick and managed to grab a handful of the girl's robe and yank her backwards. The golem roared, in what sounded like disappointed fury and continued after them, fists raised. 

She managed to swing the girl up in her arms and tried to run as fast as she was able. It wasn't easy; the girl was almost as large as she was and though she'd spent hours hauling very heavy books around, books did not generally wriggle or weigh as much as you did. They weren't going to be able to outrun that thing by much. 

"I should have...paid attention...to all those stories...about scientists who are destroyed by their creations," she panted. "Too...late...now." 

"Professor, it's going to catch us," the girl screamed, staring over Lilika's shoulder. Lilika risked a quick glance back herself. The golem was definitely gaining on them and she was tiring. Her legs ached terribly and soon she would be too exhausted to run. The little girl, seeming to sense this, shrieked once more in panicked fear, went limp and passed out. Lilika staggered under her dead weight and knew with calm certainty that they weren't going to make it. 

"Sweeting, I'm sorry I dragged you into this," Lilika gasped as she stumbled a little further, feeling her chest constrict from lack of air. She dropped out of her run to lean against a wall, breathing in great gulps of air so she could gain a few more seconds for them both. 

"As am I," a voice snarled from directly behind her. Hands grabbed her around the waist and she and the girl were hauled backwards into the wall. Lilika shut her eyes, expecting to impact on stone. "Kyaaa!" 

The wall slid shut in front of her eyes and she blinked twice. 

"…Oh, a secret passage," she said weakly, clutching the little girl more firmly against her. The girl was still unconscious in her arms, face pressed against the front of her robes, which were very wet, sticky and unpleasant from the girl's tears. 

She didn't have to turn around to see who her rescuer was. The bony hands grasping her around the waist and the black robes covering the arms attached to those hands belonged exclusively to Professor Snape. 

"Are you happy?" he hissed into her ear, tightening his grip until she winced from the pain. "Are you satisfied now? Are you? And you managed to kill someone while you were at it." 

"She just passed out," Lilika said, showing Snape the girl's body, letting him feel her pulse, which still beat against Lilika's hands. Once he proved to himself that she wasn't a murderer, he pried the girl away from her and set her down not too gently on the stone floor of the secret passage, one hand staying on Lilika's waist the whole time. Once he finished, the icy look he gave her told her at once that she was nowhere near off the hook. 

"I had nothing to do with this," she protested, then realised how stupid that sounded. Well, this wasn't exactly a clear thinking sort of situation. 

She heard a horrible choking sound and took a minute to realise Snape was laughing. "Lies, lies and damned lies," he chanted, grinning hideously. His black eyes were fixed right on her face and burning with malevolent fire. "You look me right in the face and lie." 

"Snape..." His eyes looked wild, the pupils contracted to pinpoints. 

His hand came up and covered her mouth, cutting off her voice. "You," he said very softly into her ear, pulling her down to sit with him on the low steps of the passage's staircase, "are going to tell me how to destroy that thing. Then we will sit here until it passes. I will get behind it to destroy it before it gets to the end of the passage, where the other professors are waiting for it. And then," his hand tightened even more on her mouth, probably in response to her attempts to bite him "the Ministry is going to come and deal with you." 

_ No. _

Snape's smile was the most terrible thing she had ever seen in her life. 

They sat on the steps wordlessly. The only sounds were Snape's even breathing, and the golem heaving itself along the hallway. Lilika, pressed right up against Snape, practically in his lap and not enjoying it one bit, made a few feeble attempts to get away, but Snape's grip tightened and became more and more painful each time she did. She stopped trying, letting him clutch at her. 

"That's the right way to do things," he murmured and his hand slid off her mouth. His heart was beating very quickly for someone who seemed so outwardly calm. "Now talk." 

"I don't know how to stop it, because I don't know what started it," she growled. 

Lilika felt him shrug, a slow, sharp movement against her back. "So you say. It doesn't matter. I'll find some way to do it." 

The golem's thudding footfalls were right outside the wall. Then they passed on. 

Snape rose, setting her back on her feet and strode forward. "You watch the child," he commanded, running his hands over the wall. He found the catch, released it and stuck his head out little by little to see what was going on. 

Snape was cautious, but not cautious enough. Lilika tiptoed past the girl and crept up behind Snape, quiet as a Lethifold. Just as he began to step out into the hallway, she caught his shoulder and in one movement shoved him aside and drove her fist into his stomach. 

He doubled over and she heard him gagging on a gasp. "YOU watch the child," she spat, easing past him into the hall "and I'll deal with my problem." She caught a small glimpse of his face, livid and blotched with fury, before she slammed the passage door shut on his cursing. 

Finally, a little quiet. 

The golem was still moving forward, it's massive head turning first one way, and then the other as it scanned for prey. _ "Matte! _ Who's commanding you now?" 

It stopped; began to rotate so it could face her. Lilika gripped her wand and waited, sweat dripping down her sides. 

The golem had completed its turn and she saw the control gem on it's forehead was no longer reddish, but a black so deep it made the night look pale. 

_ Someone else's hand in this. Lovely. What problem will the universe throw at me next? _

"Remove the gem and you lose your power," she muttered. "I so hate to do this, but... _ Ugokimawanai. _ " 

It stayed utterly still as she walked up to it, stayed still as she levitated a few feet and reached for it's forehead. The edge of the gem was cool against her fingertips and she wiggled the stone, trying to pry it free. 

The golem's massive hands shot up, far more quickly then she could have anticipated and crushed her between them. 

Lilika screamed, but not for very long as the golem was squeezing all of the air out of her lungs. 

Her fingers scrabbled at the gem, unable to get a hold on the slick surface. Kicking the golem was not helping the situation either. The pinpoints of light in front of her eyes grew larger as her sight dimmed. 

The golem's hands were slowly drawing closer to one another as Lilika squirmed between them, twisting desperately to get away. _My ribs are crunching, I can't breathe..._

The golem's hand closed tightly on her left side and squeezed. A sudden sharp pain raced up her body and Lilika shrieked involuntarily, the pain growing worse with every breath. Her next swallow brought up a little blood, her eyesight was almost totally obscured by the colourful sparkles that announced the loss of consciousness and from the way the golem's hands were still pressing down on her, it didn't intend to stop until all her ribs had broken.

_ I will not die like this. Not only is it ridiculous and humiliating, it would mean Snape was right. I won't let him be right. _

Her wand hand still had enough strength left to point her wand at the golem's throat and she had just enough breath to cast a Banishing charm. It came out in a croaky whisper, but it was the thought that counted. 

The golem shot backwards, sending her flying out of its grip with the gem in her fingers. Lilika hit the floor very hard and laid there for a few minutes with her eyes closed, trying her best to breathe through the stabbing pains in her chest. 

The enormous crashing sound that came a few seconds later told her she'd been successful and the floor shook as the golem smashed into it. She didn't care. 

When she opened her eyes a few seconds later, Snape was looming over her, his eyes full of black fire. 

"Severus?" she heard Flitwick call from a great distance. "Is it dead?" 

His hands hooked themselves under her arms and yanked her to her feet. Dizzily, she managed to stand, slumping against him, as her feet didn't seem to want to support her weight. 

"Everything's under control," she heard Snape call back. "I'll join you shortly." 

He turned her so she was facing the way she'd come. "What are you doing?" she mumbled. 

"Walk," he hissed, shoving her forward. His hands were gripping her shoulders like iron claws and Lilika realized with a dull throb of horror that he was arranging things so the other teachers couldn't see her or what he was doing. "I told you what was going to happen." 

Lilika felt as if an electric shock was ripping down her spine. "And you don't care that I wasn't the one who did this?" she asked, her throat very tight. Her breath hitched painfully. 

"You endangered Hogwarts and its students because of your stupidity," he said coldly. "You also made quite a point of how no one else could control that thing except you." He bent down for the express purpose of hissing in her ear. "I think the solution is obvious." 

"I didn't!" 

"Are you trying to suggest one of the students did this?" he said with another of his horrible, thin smiles. "Tsk, tsk. Shifting blame-you should be more honourable. How very like your family." 

"Judge, jury and executioner all in one, are you?" Lilika squirmed in his grip, trying to get away, to catch someone's attention. Her broken rib throbbed with every movement, but she couldn't let him take her, she _couldn't_..."Hey!" 

The point of his wand dug hard into her throat, against her pulse, making her choke. "Don't make me do this," Snape said quietly. His long fingers dug into her shoulder a little more. 

She managed a nod, struggling against the urge to fall to the ground and howl with pain. "I think at least one of my ribs is broken. Do you care at all?" 

"No."

He pushed her forward again, and they began to walk, their footsteps silent on the stone floors. 

"Where are we going?" she finally whispered after a few corridors, her voice thick with the cold hatred now running fast through her blood. She wasn't walking so much as letting Snape push her along, as the pain was becoming increasingly difficult for her to deal with. 

"To my office to await the Ministry," he said, quite calm. "Which reminds me-I'll also be taking this." His thin hand closed on the ruby at her throat. 

She immediately clamped both hands over his and dug her nails into his skin, feeling his blood welling between her fingers. He gasped in pain-a ragged sound like tearing cloth-and jerked away from her, his hands dropping. 

Lilika was able to stand free for one second, savoring her victory before the point of Snape's elbow slammed into her stomach. 

"Turnabout is fair play," she heard him say through the rushing sound of blood pounding through her ears. She dangled limp in his grasp and he pulled her upright once more, letting her head hang down. Sour fluid dripped from her mouth and hit the floor in large splatters. She gagged quietly, and spat up more fluid, trying to push the bitter taste out of her mouth.  
One of Snape's long hands slid up her ribcage and she tensed in spite of the pain, ready to scratch again if she needed to.

It was all she could really do at the moment. 

His finger prodded carefully about halfway up her body and Lilika moaned as a fresh new pain bit at her. "So, it seems you weren't lying about that. Amazing." He shifted his weight slightly and Lilika could see his hand moving under his robe from the corner of her eye. After a moment had passed, Snape grunted in satisfaction and pulled out a small, perfectly round bottle half full of a greenish liquid, popping the stopper out with his thumb. Pulling her head up, he brought the bottle close to her face. The odor that wafted from it made Lilika think of some plant that had once been green and alive once, but was now rotting into pulp under someone's wood pile. "Drink it," he ordered, pressing the neck of the bottle against her mouth. She pulled her lips tight and resisted.

"Are you mad? Do you think I'll just do anything you say?" she choked, turning her head as far away as her neck would take it. "It's probably poison, or at least tastes very foul. You're trying to poison me, I know it..."

He snorted, his long nostrils flaring. "Don't be stupid. I don't need you damaged and passing out from pain before the Ministry even gets here, do I? It would make me look rather bad." His sneering tone dropped away as his silky voice thickened with threat. "Now, be a good little girl and take the medicine I am so kindly providing for you."

"No!" Oh, she was really in a lovely situation here; all she could do was whisper in defiance.

"Everything with you is the hard way," he said quietly. One hand steadied the bottle; the other reached across her body and tilted her chin up. Lilika held back a whimper of pain. "I don't know what you get out of it. Fine." 

Snape swiftly pinched her nose shut and pressed the bottle even more firmly against her lips, obviously waiting for her to open her mouth for air. Her mouth stayed clamped shut, and Lilika was determined to keep it that way, even as the pressure in her chest worsened.

"You really are ridiculous," he snapped into her ear. His breath was hot. "Don't you realise that once you pass out your mouth will open automatically anyway? Just what do you think you're accomplishing?"

Slowly, Lilika nodded. The air that had been trapped in her lungs was now all in her head and it was making it difficult for her to follow things. _ I know that. I don't care. I just want to make things as difficult for you as possible. Anything. Everything._

A few drops of the potion trickled through her lips.

Lilika felt cold stone against her ankles and gradually realised that Snape was kneeling on the ground, holding her across his body as he poured the rest of the potion into her. She coughed some of it up and shuddered (it not only had a foul taste, it was thick and glutinous and coated her throat like rubber) while Snape wiped the excess off her mouth with a piece of cloth.

Some of the pain dissolved, and Lilika could soon draw a full breath without gasping, but her broken rib still protruded painfully into her side. She attempted to sit up, to pull away from him, but his hands grabbed at her shoulders and held tight.

"Eager to be off? My, my, I would almost think you wanted to meet the Ministry. But before we go--"

His fingers were at her throat, tugging and he fumbled the ruby out, leaving the setting pinned to her robes. It happened so quickly that Lilika barely had a chance to blink before he secreted the ruby away in some inner pocket. 

"Mine now." His wide smirk and glittering eyes made him look almost happy, for a moment.

The setting was still pinned to her dress and Lilika put up a hand to touch it, with a small, inconspicuous sigh of relief. If he'd taken the ruby and the setting, her dress would have fallen open to the waist and she wasn't keen on the thought of Snape seeing her in her chemise. And by only taking the ruby he'd just proved he really didn't know as much as he thought he did. 

Only the floor saw her smile. 

Snape's moment of gleeful triumph had passed, and his voice turned brusque again. "Get up. Walk."

Lilika turned her face away and very slowly shifted her weight onto her heels, thinking furiously. Clearly Snape had chosen a fairly out-of-the-way corridor to bring her through--the better to keep anyone from noticing he was quietly disposing of her, she mentally snarled--but almost twenty minutes had passed from the end of the golem's attack to now. The Headmaster would have called everyone together. Everyone would gather except her and Snape. Someone would wonder, someone else (preferably the Headmaster) would begin to put two and two together and someone would come and rescue her before the Ministry arrived. Someone.

She closed her eyes. _ It's hateful for me to rely on Someone, but I can't do anything myself. I'm too weak..._

Lilika opened her eyes, blinked and then looked up at him, trying to appear as dazed and lifeless as possible. "I can't," she whispered.

"Don't be ridiculous," he said, prodding and pushing her in an effort to make her stand. "We're wasting time--"

She wouldn't rise on her own, so he yanked her up, only to have her fall limply against him, her legs unwilling to support her weight. A growl of frustration started in his chest and rapidly became louder and rose higher as she clutched at him, struggling to keep her balance.

"Useless!" he spat, stooping to grab her legs and swing her up into his arms. "Fine! I'll carry you if that's what it takes! I have never seen such a useless, pathetic, weakling Woodville!" Once she was up, Lilika curled close to him, trying to make herself as awkward a burden as it was possible for him to carry, and won a small but vital victory; Snape had to put away his wand in order to cradle her.

The veins in Snape's forehead looked as if they were going to snap if they became any larger. He kicked open a door and strode through it, making no effort to protect her head from the sides of the door frame. "What a let down you turned out to be. I personally was hoping for more of a challenge," he hissed, his voice low in her ear. "All your predecessors managed to last through the year without detection...How _did_ you ever become a Death Eater?" 

"Well, I didn't," she said very quietly. He didn't appear to be listening, his lips pressed into a thin line as he rushed forward. Lilika let her head lean against his bony shoulder. "And I am the runt of the family," she said, in a slightly louder voice. She was suddenly very tired. "Besides, I'm sure you'll get an Order of Merlin or somesuch for your daring capture of me. Doesn't that make me of use to you?"

"Shut _up._"

Lilika stayed quiet after that, but her hand itched to draw out her wand.

_ Do you honestly think I'd let you just do what you want with me? Let you get away with this, Snape? More fool you. _

Now, if she could just get her wand out without him noticing…but his hands were very effectively restraining her... 

Snape came to an abrupt stop and she jerked in his arms at the sudden movement, almost falling out of them. She looked up. 

"Mr. Malfoy," Snape said in a voice of obvious forced calm. "What are you doing here?" 

Draco was standing at the end of the hall, his pale hair the only spot of brightness in the shadows. He was alone, clutching his elbows close to his body. 

"Looking for you, sir." 

Saved by a Malfoy. This was really too much. She just wanted to go back to bed. 

Snape shifted her slightly, and almost put her down on the ground, his hands darting from her shoulder to her side as he tried to make this situation seem normal and even reasonable. The shift in position left her wand arm free, and since Snape's beetle black eyes were now fixed on Malfoy, it gave Lilika just opportunity enough to draw her wand, slide her arm around his shoulders and poke it hard into his back. 

He sucked in his breath, but made no other sign he'd been jabbed. 

"Why did you want to see me, Mr. Malfoy?" Snape said, eyebrows raised. Whilst speaking, he'd wrapped his right arm a little more firmly around her and closed his hand over her broken rib, his wide sleeves keeping the motion hidden from Malfoy. He let his fingers press in lightly. 

She pushed her wand a little further into his back. "Let's see how much you like it," she hissed under her breath. 

His finger dug a little more painfully into her rib in response. "Try me," he growled out of the corner of his mouth. 

If Malfoy noticed any of this, he made no sign. "I'm not the one who wants to see you," he said, in a very quiet little voice. 

"Then why are you wasting my time?" Snape snapped, using his arm to give her a little shake. Her wand remained steady despite his efforts. "I'm in the middle of something very important." 

Draco's flat grey eyes wandered over to focus on her. "What does she have to do with it? Why are you carrying her anyway?" 

"If you _must_ know, I'm taking her to my office for treatment. She's been hurt," Snape said acidly, his eyes flashing. "Now, who_is_it that wishes to see me?" 

Malfoy's eyes shifted back to Snape. "Professor Dumbledore, sir." 

"The Headmaster?" Snape gave a little snort of disbelief. "I would think that if the Headmaster wanted to see me, he would come find me himself." 

"I have, Severus," a voice said quietly from behind them. 

Snape immediately released her rib, his hands moving to support her again. "Headmaster…" 

Dumbledore merely stood there and looked at them, the shadows falling into every crease on his face. 

"Severus. If you would be so kind as to bring Liliana, I want to see both of you in my office. Now."


	7. Beauty is Truth

**Part 6: Beauty is Truth **

_-But never met this fellow,   
Attended or alone,   
Without a tighter breathing,   
And zero at the bone.-   
_ **Emily Dickinson **

Dumbledore had made her walk in front of him as they went to his office, Snape bringing up the rear. She couldn't tell whether he was trying to protect her from Snape or he was suspicious of her, but her ears burned all the way there. 

A storm of furious whispers hit them as soon as they entered the Headmaster's office. The pictures were buzzing back and forth, visiting their neighborhoods and almost leaning out of their frames so they could get a better look at what was going on. Dumbledore motioned them to the two chairs sitting in front of his desk, then took his own seat, face solemn. Snape chose the seat on the right and slumped down into it, bony fingers plucking at his robes in what she would have called a nervous gesture in anyone else. 

She waited patiently for Snape to settle in and then she pounced on him. 

"HOW DARE YOU CONSIDER ME SO STUPID AS TO USE MY OWN CREATION TO ATTACK PEOPLE?!" she howled, slamming both hands down on the sides of his chair and leaning right into his face. "DO YOU THINK I'M A MORON?" 

Snape's face may have paled slightly, but he raised his chin defiantly, his eyes narrow and glittering with fury-and disappointment. 

"Liliana, please," Dumbledore said, in a very quiet sort of way that told her it would be best to do exactly as he said. "Sit down." 

She dropped into the left chair, trying to scorch Snape with the anger of her glare. He glared back. They held a silent battle with their eyes for a few moments, until Dumbledore's even voice broke the silence. 

"Severus, you haven't brought the Ministry into this yet, have you?" 

Snape broke eye contact and straightened. "No, Headmaster." 

Lilika tried to ignore the feeling of her stomach diving south in relief. _He is such a liar._

Dumbledore made an almost imperceptible sound of relief, his fingers stroking his long beard. His voice, when he finally spoke again was still low. "Most fortunate. Now, Liliana. Please tell me what happened." 

"Why bother?" Snape interjected, his lean face contorting with anger. "What does it matter what _she_ thinks? The fact remains that she is the one who created that creature in the first place and the one responsible for keeping it under control-a duty she has failed at. Even if she did not set it off as she claims,"-here he threw her a look that could have scorched brick-"she still created a situation that endangered Hogwarts and its students. Actions like that demand punishment." 

"You seem to have an obsession with punishment, especially where I am concerned," Lilika said bitterly, looking Snape right in the eye. "Why is that?" 

He snorted softly, but his eyes shifted and did not meet hers. "You are a troublemaker, that's why." 

"Stop it, both of you," Dumbledore almost snapped, clearly becoming impatient. She and Snape both jumped, hands falling obediently into their laps. "We are here to determine matters, not engage in childish arguments. Liliana will tell her side of the story without further interruptions." 

"Well, I taught my first class-that would be the Slytherin fifth years, who are just a little _too_ enthusiastic," she began, smirking at Snape. 

Snape's eyes flashed. "Get to the point. We're not interested in your digressions," he said in his most snide tone of voice. She rolled her eyes, but continued. 

"I have a free period afterwards. I went back to my room to take a nap because my head was bothering me. I woke up when the screaming started and ran downstairs to see what was going on. I saw the golem rampaging about and a girl had been trapped in its path. I grabbed her and ran, Snape grabbed me, long story short I destroyed it, it nearly crushed me in the process and then Snape decided to drag me away and quietly get rid of me without a trial." 

"A very inventive story," Snape muttered, again slouched in his chair. 

Dumbledore's gaze became piercing. "What did you intend to do with her, Severus?" 

She watched Snape's sallow face turn white with something akin to glee. 

"As I said-merely to take her someplace quiet to await the Ministry-to keep from alarming the students. That's all." 

"And the Ministry would have most likely brought Dementors, because they are a paranoid bunch of barbarians," Lilika said, watching Snape's skin leech colour with every word. "And you would have stood by and let me be Kissed, I'm sure-never giving a damn whether or not I deserved it..." 

She wouldn't have thought it possible, but Snape actually flushed, a pale salmon colour dotting the top of his bony cheeks. "I would have let them do no such thing."

"Sure." 

"I don't lie!" 

She folded her arms across her breasts. "And that business about the Ministry wasn't a lie?" 

His eyes struck sparks. "I had said we would await the Ministry, not that they had already been called. Don't fault me for your assumptions." 

"Don't think I'm a liar then." 

"You haven't proved yourself true yet." 

"Severus," Dumbledore said. Just that one word, but it cut through their argument like a knife, stopping their voices. 

"I realize you are under a great deal of stress at this time due to circumstances. I sympathize, as I share an equal role in that situation, and I commend you for your devotion to Hogwarts. However, in situations such as this, you are not to take matters into your own hands. I am Headmaster here." Dumbledore's words were soft, but steel underlined every word he spoke. The Headmaster rose stiffly to his feet and paced around the office, staring at them each in turn. 

Lilika tried to subtly edge back into her chair, not wanting that gimlet stare to rest on her. Dumbledore's burning eyes passed over her and she shuddered, feeling very small and petty at that moment. Guilt washed over Snape's face as he was hit by that look in turn, though his mouth stayed hard. 

"I will not sit by and let two of my staff members tear each other to pieces over petty differences. Hatred has no place at Hogwarts, especially now, and especially not between two people who must work together and set a good example for the students. You must both," and the Headmaster's voice rung with absolute finality, "cease this ridiculous behavior, or if not, at the very least confine it to where it will not be seen by others." Dumbledore came to a halt right in front of Snape, his light blue eyes locked onto Snape's coal black ones. "I will _not_ have this turn into another Sirius Black, Severus." 

Snape flinched at the name, his shoulders jerking as if lashed by an invisible whip. 

A flame burned in the depths of Dumbledore's eyes and it was a terrible thing to watch. "Do you understand me?" 

"What does Sirius Black have to do with all this?" Lilika asked, not really wanting to break in, but completely confused by the reference. She knew all about the famous murderer Sirius Black-his escape, and how the Ministry was still searching for him, their search given new urgency by Voldemort's rebirth. She'd never really paid much attention to Black, as she'd been busy with far bigger matters at the time, but the mention of Black was still puzzling. Why would Dumbledore mention Black? 

The Headmaster looked at her, the ferocity of his gaze dimming a bit. 

A pause. 

"Sirius and Severus have a legendary hatred running between them," Dumbledore said, his voice now distinctly weary. "They have hated since childhood-will not reconcile themselves even now, when the need is greatest. I must tell you that Sirius is innocent of the crimes he was supposed to have committed, so if you should see him around Hogwarts, do not be alarmed. He is on our side." 

So that was how it was. Black was innocent, good for him. As for seeing him, she had no real idea of what he looked like. Black could probably sneak up and bite her on the leg before she realised who it was. Lilika made a mental note about Black for future reference and turned her thoughts back to Dumbledore's office. 

Snape gave a soft snort, his eyes fixed not on the Headmaster but on his folded hands. Dumbledore sighed.

"The best I've managed so far is having them in the same room without trying to kill each other. I believe you can see why I want this anger between you and Severus to die down now, before it can twist itself into that kind of poisonous enmity. Is that clear?" 

She nodded. "Yes, Headmaster." 

"This is all very well and good," Snape finally muttered, "but it does not solve the question of how much guilt Miss Jardin bears in this matter. And what should be done with her." 

"That does it," Lilika snapped, the embers of anger she had been carrying around ever since this ridiculous situation started fanning into full flame. She jumped to her feet once more, leaning over his chair, trying to look as large and threatening as possible. "You can't ever let things go, can you? You want the truth Snape? I'll give you the damned truth." She turned to Dumbledore, feeling her eyes blaze with hot anger, but her voice came out so evenly it surprised her. "Do you have any Veritaserum?" 

Snape's head snapped up and he stared at her, the first bits of shock she had ever seen in him showing in his eyes. "You can't be serious."

"Are you sure you want this?" Dumbledore asked, his light blue eyes locked on her own. His face had resettled into its tired folds and the image of power was gone, though his eyes still sparked. "You aren't just giving us access to the facts of this matter-you are letting us into your most private thoughts. Be very certain this is what you wish to do." 

She jerked her head in Snape's direction. "I don't think anything less is going to satisfy him," she said grimly. 

Snape's mouth thinned and he looked away, folding his narrow hands once more in his lap as Dumbledore went to a cabinet at the far end of the room and rummaged around inside it for a few minutes. When he emerged, his beard slightly dusty, he held a tiny bottle of perfectly clear liquid. Dumbledore offered it to her with a small nod of his head, and she took it from him, clearing her throat until Snape looked her way again. 

"Say the word Snape, and I'll do it," she said, dangling the bottle in front of him, her eyes locked on his. "I'll give you my everything, if that's what you want, if _that is what it will take to make you believe_-I will do it. I am so tired of this." She sat the bottle down on Dumbledore's desk and pushed it forward until it was within his reach. "Your call." 

He stood up and glared at her, his mouth curving into a sneer. "Don't be so melodramatic." 

"I'm the one who's going to be spewing nothing but plain truth for the next hour, so I reserve the right to indulge in a little hyperbole before I'm restricted. Though, to be perfectly fair," she said in a musing tone, feeling a thoughtful fit coming on, "You should take some too-I would very much like to know exactly why you hate me so much…" 

Snape's eyes glittered. 

"This was your idea, not mine. I refuse to do anything to satisfy _your_ curiosity," he said, and wrapped a hand around the bottle, lifting it into the air. 

"Too many secrets, Snape?" she said softly. "Or maybe-what you're really afraid of-is that once all your secrets are revealed there won't be anything left underneath…" 

His lips thinned until his mouth looked like a slash made in old parchment.

"Do as you will," he hissed through clenched teeth. 

He slapped the bottle into her outstretched palm. She sat back down; cradled the bottle in both hands, turned the stopper and lifted it out.

A small smile played over Snape's lips as he slid back into his own chair. 

"I sincerely hope you won't regret this," he murmured. 

She ignored the barb and lifted the bottle to her lips. The bittersweet licorice smell made her recoil automatically, a few of her worst memories slipping up as she inhaled the odor. Her mother, standing over her, making sure she drank it all… 

"Well, here goes," she said, trying to sound cheerful and drank. 

Two seconds later, her blood turned to fire and ate through her bones. The air she breathed had turned painful, like hot needles filling her lungs, and the world dissolved before her eyes. Snape's bony fingers were suddenly at her temples, feeling, probing, and turning her head so he could look into her eyes. "Headmaster," she heard him say faintly, as if from a long distance, "her pulse is racing…" 

"I've forgotten how it burns…" she croaked and pitched forward. 

He'd never seen a reaction to Veritaserum as violent as hers. She was dripping with sweat mere seconds after taking it, her skin burning as if she were in the throes of a fever. The girl let out a strangled cry, hands gripping her skirts, her eyes darting back and forth under the lids. He pushed her back into the chair, taking her pulse, lifting one eyelid to check the pupil. 

"Should we let this continue?" he quietly asked. It would serve her right if something happened due to her flair for the dramatic but it would not be good if she up and died on him. He'd never intended that. 

The Headmaster's face was in shadow once more and Snape could not read his expression. "There isn't anything to counter Veritaserum once it has been taken," Dumbledore finally said, his tone grave. "If I had known this would happen…" 

"Stop talking and ask your damn questions!" the girl snarled suddenly through clenched teeth. Brat. She'd brought this on herself, after all. "I can deal with this-I've done this before but I forgot how much it hurts…" 

"Just one moment Liliana," Dumbledore said. He murmured a word and the air around the girl became several degrees cooler. "Does that help?" 

She sighed, her body relaxing under his hands. "Yes, thank you." 

She was lucky he didn't mind being cold. "What do you mean, you've done this before? Were you interrogated often?" 

"No, you greasy git, because my mother used to make me take it on a regular basis when I was younger," she said, starting to quiet down. The thrashing had stopped and her voice settled into a more modulated tone. "Every time she thought I was lying, I was sneaky or I was hiding something-out it came. I think I'm allergic to something in it, but don't get too happy, as it hasn't killed me yet." 

She panted a little, chest heaving-_you're noticing the wrong things_-then swallowed. "I want you to ask the questions Snape-this way you can't claim something was done wrong," she said, her voice unsteady and changing in pitch every other word. 

"Fine," he snapped, thoroughly sick of her snarmy, know-it-all attitude and her insinuations that he was some bloodthirsty fool who didn't know what he was doing. His fingers clenched on her forehead, feeling the rapid beat of her blood in her temples. Her pulse was still much too quick, but it had slowed a little, giving him an absurd feeling of gratitude. He shook himself mentally. 

His hand still cupped her face, her damp skin warm against the tips of his fingers. "We'll start with simple questions, and if you can handle that we'll go on. Tell me your full name and how old you are." 

"Liliana Isobel Eleanore Woodville," she murmured automatically. "I'll be twenty-eight next May. Do you want my birth date too?"

He shrugged. "Yes." 

"May 25th, 1968." 

He nodded. This was consistent with what the newspaper articles had said and what he remembered of that very brief glimpse of her he had gotten sixteen years ago. Andrew had called her both Lily and Liliana. 

"Why are you calling yourself Lilika Jardin? Trying to hide?" 

Her voice was laced with scorn. "Come, Snape. Isn't that a stupid question? You're the one who kept threatening to expose my real name. I know what people think of the Woodville family. Evil vicious Dark wizards, who make it their living and their goal to help whatever Dark wizard happens to be around to power. People hate and fear my family…but you know that already, don't you?" 

"You're not answering the question." 

She gave a put-upon sigh. 

"Lilika is my name-my nickname-my nurse gave it to me, means "little lily". My aunt's married name is Jardin-the only way she could escape our family was by running off with a French Auror. I love my aunt. That's why I took the name. I am hiding, but that should have been damned obvious." 

"From what?" Angry Death Eaters, he supposed, just like him and half the wizarding world. Did she think that made her special? 

"Not what, who-the rest of my family." Yes, just as he'd thought. He shook his head, smirking a little. She was so overly…dramatic, emotions and hyperbole flying everywhere. Well, as a noblewoman, as someone _special,_ she would have been feted and encouraged from a very early age. Small wonder she had an ego. Just like Potter. Just like Black. 

Why did the Headmaster have to bring that up in front of her? 

"As you say my family is well-known for their dark tendencies, let's just say I'm known in my family for hating Death Eaters, hating Voldemort and generally despising all things and deeds evil." 

Her voice had gotten stronger and clearer as she continued to talk and she started to sit upright again, hands clutching the arm rails for balance. He let his hands slid off her face. They were slick with her sweat. 

"My father was the oldest son. On his death, and with both my siblings dead and my mother put away, I became the head of the Woodville family. You can just guess how my Death Eater relatives loved that-the Woodville name, title and fortune in the hands of a girl who went publicly and often against everything they stand for. I'm a disgrace to the family and should be eliminated-so says my cousin Anthony. Now that Voldemort's back in power, they've gotten bolder. I've already been attacked twice this year-this after a break of eleven years. That's why I came to Hogwarts. One Death Eater I can handle, two of them I've beaten, a bunch is a little too much for even me to deal with." 

"One would think from your bragging that you could take on a small army of Dark wizards," he said dryly. "If you are so against the Dark Lord and his ilk, then why are you so immersed in the Dark Arts?" 

She laughed, she actually laughed, a pure note of joy and once again, the hot sick rush of anger that he'd felt upon seeing her creature ruining everything came back to him. 

"It's what I'm good at, Snape. Just because I know two hundred different ways to curse someone doesn't mean I would. I love the Dark Arts, love knowing how to defend myself and how to attack my enemies. It gives me an edge, something my opponents don't have. I was the baby. My brother hated me, my mother hated me, they both tormented me and I don't think either of them would have cared greatly if I'd died. I needed something against them." 

_Unnatural child._ He could hear Iolanthe hissing that down the years, her blue eyes blank and pitiless as she watched her youngest daughter drip mud on the paved courtyard. _Her leg's half torn open and her face is like ice. Completely unnatural. She must be a changeling; she's no child of mine._

Andrew had told her to shut up, a sentiment he completely agreed with. 

He leaned forward. "Do you still have that scar on your leg?"

Her face went utterly blank. After a small silence, she said in a flat, accusing voice, "You were there that day." 

"Yes." 

She hissed quietly through her teeth. "I should have known. My father used to have his little Death Eater support groups over for tea and cakes every now and then, everyone in long cloaks. You saw me, but I didn't see you." 

"Show me the scar. Please," he added, after catching the warning in the Headmaster's eye. Dumbledore was being as quiet and motionless as one of his potted plants and he was even forgetting the Headmaster was present at times. Snape gritted his teeth, the familiar pain bringing him back to himself. He must not get too involved in this. He had enough on his mind already without a snip of a girl clouding his thoughts. 

_Concentrate on the show,_ he told himself sternly.

Woodville bent and unbuckled her right shoe, laying it aside. Tugging at the toe of her black stocking, she got it off without having to raise her skirt and dropped it atop the shoe. She swung her leg out slowly and he moved back to make room for her, his eyes focused on the pale skin showing at the bottom of her black skirts.

The girl grasped the hem of her skirt and raised it to her knee, showing a bit of the white underskirt as she did. "There," she muttered. 

A jagged line of rose ran up from her ankle, wide and crooked against her white skin. The line disappeared into the shadows above her knee, but he knew it continued up her thigh, almost to the top. 

"Put down your skirts," he said calmly. "I've seen enough." Her face flushed an angry looking pink and he smiled. 

"Now, Lady Woodville, here come the important questions," he said, putting emphasis on her title and a sneer in his voice, watching her eye twitch with something like pleasure. "Did you unleash your golem on the students and Hogwarts?" 

"No," she said immediately, sounding angry once more. "I told you, I was asleep. I didn't touch it at all. Not even when my first period students were using it."

"You weren't using this to control it from a distance, then?" He held up the ruby seal, which he'd secreted in a pocket after taking it from her.

As her blank blue eyes slowly narrowed in on his hand, she gave a great snort of laughter, doubling over once more, but with mirth instead of pain. "Of course not. The only thing the ruby's good for is a doorstop. It's completely magically inert, which would have been screamingly obvious if you'd bothered to check."

The edges of the gem cut into his palm. Laughing at him _again._ All she had done since coming here was laugh at him. And humiliate him. And kiss him.

He would not forgive her for that last one. 

"Isn't this the famous Seal of the Woodville family?" he said carefully, trying to keep his voice free of the anger that was raging through his every cell. "I saw your father using it to open the castle gates once." 

She nodded. "You saw my father hold up the ruby, but you never noticed the setting. That was the point." 

A pale hand went to her collar and pulled apart the circle of golden wire pinned there. He bent closer. The circle had a hidden catch which allowed her to slip off the miniscule golden crescent ornament that dangled off the wire. The crescent now lay in her palm, held out for his inspection. 

_"This_ is the seal. It takes what form it pleases." 

He reached out to take it from her hand. "We'll see what kind of magic is in this." 

"No, don't!" she cried out, snatching it back with a rapid twist of her fingers just as his fingers were to touch it. "If you're not a Woodville, touching the seal will burn you like acid. I don't need you blaming me for the loss of your fingers on top of everything else." The Woodville girl tucked the seal between her clasped hands, shaking her black-haired head as she did. "For God's sake, put on a pair of dragon-hide gloves or something if you want to examine it. The only magic you'll find are the spells that allows Woodvilles to unlock any door in the family houses and the one that summons the Guardians." 

"The famous Guardians," he repeated, fragments of a rumour swirling to the forefront of his mind. "The beasts of stone that will rise to defend any Woodville from their enemy." 

She nodded. "Exactly. But they are confined to Castle Rising and I can't summon them from this distance anyway." A grim smile floated over her lips. "Otherwise I would have had them eat you long ago." 

"Liliana. Restrain yourself from making threats, please." 

She blushed. "I'm sorry Headmaster. I forgot myself." 

Since she was under the Veritaserum, he would assume that to be true, for now. 

"Look at me once more, Miss Woodville. I'm not quite through with you yet." 

"What more is there? I didn't tell the golem to do anything, we're established that," she said in a very prim and proper sort of voice. Playacting as an innocent girl. 

"That doesn't mean you aren't hiding murderous designs somewhere in that little head of yours," he hissed. "Hogwarts and the Headmaster have many enemies, as you well know. As I've mentioned before, it's very convenient a little girl from a prominent family of Dark wizards would just happen to be in the neighborhood when we needed a new Dark Arts teacher." 

"I told you to stop comparing me with my family!" she shouted, now very angry. "I am not a Dark wizard! Stop acting like I'm going to kill you all!" 

"Is that so?" he drawled, seeing her pale face turn crimson as a poppy. "Tell me then, Lady Woodville. Did you ever want to hurt anyone here at the school?" 

She looked him straight in the eye, her mouth drawn into a thin, unsmiling line. 

"Only you," she said. 

His Dark Mark prickled and a numbing pain shot down his arm, as it always did whenever he grew very, very angry. "Why me?" It came out as a long furious rasp and he cursed himself for showing her something else to use against him. Her lips turned up in response. 

"I hate you," she stated simply. Another prickle hit his arm and he grabbed it, massaging the area in an effort to bring himself back under control. "You hated me from the start and you ask why? You're trying to drive me away for no reason. Do you want me to die, Snape?"

"Do you really want the answer to that question?" he spat, fingers still sunk into the flesh of his arm.

An odd expression passed over her face. 

"Hmmm…but I know what question you really want the answer to," she said, almost sweetly. Her lips curved in an eerie, false smile.

He closed his eyes for a brief moment, feeling as if a very thick, heavy snake was lying across his shoulders, putting weight on his chest. "Headmaster, if you could kindly leave the room for a moment. There is something private between myself and Miss Woodville that we must discuss." 

The Headmaster looked ever so faintly wary. "I'm not going to do anything to her," he growled. Why was Dumbledore giving him that look and not her? Didn't the Headmaster know him better then that? 

"It's alright," that infuriating brat said. "Don't worry." 

With another long look at the both of them, the Headmaster slowly rose to his feet and went into the next room, shutting the door softly behind him. It took her word to make him leave. 

He looked at her. Her eyes seemed blank and empty due to the Veritaserum, but they followed his every move. Snape leaned forward, putting his face close to hers, placing his hands on either side of her body. Trapped. 

"Why did you kiss me?" 

"Oh, that," she said, and giggled. Oh that, indeed. His lips had burned for hours afterward and he'd been unable to erase the feel of her mouth on his or the abject humiliation he'd undergone at her small hands. 

Worse still were the feelings he wouldn't even acknowledge, not even in the darkest parts of his brain. Those would stay safely buried, killed before they had a chance to flourish and ruin what little sanity he had left. 

_"Why did you do it?"_

"To punish you for being an insufferable bastard. You scared me when I found out you knew who I was. Parents would not want a Woodville teaching their children anything, much less the Dark Arts. The others would shun me. I can't deal with that and I hate admitting that I was frightened by you." Her voice had dropped as she'd gone on and the smile had disappeared. 

She looked like a cornered animal, her eyes wide and lips trembling just slightly. He relished the way she was pressed back in her chair, as if trying to escape into it while he crouched over her, delighted at their role reversal. His to play with for a time, turning the knife ever so gently, until he felt merciful and released her. Sweet payback for the torment she'd put him through just by breathing around him.   
Oh, he was enjoying this. 

"Have you ever killed anyone?" 

She sent him a strange, troubled look, her blank eyes dropping at the corners. "What does that have to do with anything?"

He smiled at her. "You boasted to me that you had no blood on your hands. Is that the truth, or another of your distortions?"

Woodville turned about in her seat in an odd, restless way. "You're getting off the subject. This has nothing to do with what happened before."

"Miss Woodville, you _were_ warned about certain things pertaining to secrets you'd rather keep hidden coming to the light. And I'd like to know just what goes through that brain of yours...I assume there is a brain underneath that frivolous manner. Give me the answer to my question." 

She turned her face away. "No, I haven't. I've never killed anyone." Her voice sounded as hollow as a glass ball.

"But you've tried." It was a statement of pristine fact. 

"I tried once." Her blue eyes were shut fast again, darting around once more under the lids. "I tried to kill Lucius Malfoy by setting the Guardians on him. There. You've heard me say it. And I'm still not as bad as you." 

"Why?" Lucius Malfoy, his old mentor, his once friend, now another enemy to be dealt with. "What did he do to you?" 

"I was thirteen and very angry at something. He was always insulting me, twitting me about my height, my looks, everything. Please don't make talk about this Snape. I beg you." Her voice was growing rushed and strained. 

"Guilt?" he asked softly. This bothered him. He didn't want her to go into convulsions again, which would surely bring the Headmaster back out, and Snape felt Dumbledore did not need any more reasons to be disappointed in him. 

"Nooooo!" she said, her voice growing louder, her movements more agitated. "I loved it-I scared the shit out of him, don't you know that? It was wonderful. I proved to everyone how powerful I was. It was what they did to me afterwards that I can't bear." 

Snape pulled both her hands off the chair arms and held them tightly in his own. "Listen to me. Calm yourself. Don't think about it if it bothers you." He chafed her wrists, feeling the blood rush through. She owned him a little humiliation and pain, but not this. 

"Too late. " She was laughing through a kind of sob. "This hurts so much, but it's not going to go away, so I might as well tell you." 

He was hit with the sudden knowledge that more then anything in the world he did not want to hear her next words. 

"I was Sealed." 

Snape shut his eyes. "By whom?" he whispered. 

"My mother. She was terrified when she found out I knew how to raise the Guardians. My father was away. He came home and went berserk when he found out what'd she'd done." 

Sealing-to permanently cap off a wizard's maximum power, to limit what they were capable of, to forever deny them the chance at reaching their full potential. To do that to a child...He bit his lip. 

_Iolanthe, you grotesque bitch. _

She seemed calmer now that she'd gotten it out, her hands ceasing their frantic pulling under his own. "It stunted my growth. That's why I'm so short compared to the rest of my family. Thank God I'd already gone through puberty, or else I would have ended up permanently stuck in the body of a child." The girl managed a short, dry laugh, her grip on his hands easing. 

He opened his eyes and studied her. Her entire body seemed very relaxed and loose, her hands lying pliant in his. The Veritaserum was putting her to sleep, a sign that it was beginning to wear off. Her head lolled to one side. 

"So tired," she mumbled. "I can't talk much longer." 

"Then rest," he said, placing her hands back on the folds of her skirt and standing. Every muscle in his body felt cramped and bent. "I've heard enough." 

She was asleep, a loose strand of hair falling over her eyes and into her mouth, where it fluttered with each breath. With only a little hesitation, and using the very tips of his fingers, he brushed it back and tucked it behind her ear. 

The Headmaster was suddenly behind him, touching his arm. He'd never even heard the door open. "Severus," he murmured. "It's time we talked ourselves." 

He nodded and allowed the Headmaster to lead him into the next room.

When she opened her eyes, Snape was gone and the room quiet. Lilika put a hand to her aching head and shivered from the chill that was still lingering from the Headmaster's spell. Her stocking was lying draped across her shoe; she'd forgotten to put it back on after showing off her scar. She bent and began pulling it back on, careful not to raise her skirt too much in case someone came back into the room suddenly. 

So Snape had been there that day. So he'd gotten to see her bleed all over everything, her leg ripped open to her upper thigh, her left eye blackened. He'd probably seen her crying too, after she'd come back from her last futile search. How embarrassing. 

Now that she was thinking about it, despite everything that had happened that day, the thing that stuck out most in her mind all these years later wasn't her damaged leg or her loss. It was her sister giving her a hug, after she'd come back tear-streaked and pitiful. Maida was so remote, so cold and mechanical in everything she did, it had been a true shock to have her come up and pull her runny-nosed little sister into her arms. Maida had even told her she was sorry. This in front of a bunch of Death Eaters too. 

Considering what their mother had done to Maida, it was even more surprising now that she looked back on it.

_Your mother has destroyed two of my children,_ her father had rasped, full of cold rage as he stood over her bed. _I'm not going to let her destroy my last._

They had gone into the side room, off the Headmaster's main office. Here were some couches and chairs, meant for more informal gatherings; here also was Fawkes, looking glum and particularly decrepit as he huddled in a scraggly ball on the floor of his cage. 

"I apologise, Fawkes," the Headmaster had said to the phoenix, stroking his head through the shining bars of his cage. "I know you wanted some peace and quiet, but things happen, as they always do. Severus, please sit." 

He choose the chair in front of the door, so he could keep an ear open for sounds if the girl happened to awaken. The Headmaster drew up a chair to face him, and they sat together in silence for a moment or two, looking at each other; or rather the Headmaster looked at him while he looked at his feet, throat burning with frustration and not a little shame. 

This was uncomfortably reminiscent of their first meeting in this room, fifteen years ago. 

He'd gone straight to Hogwarts the day after the funeral with a pain he hadn't thought possible gnawing at his heart. The Headmaster had let him in, taken him to this room, and asked why he'd come. _Because you can help me,_ he'd replied. 

Dumbledore's cheerful face had gone grave at the desperate urgency in his voice. _I will always help those who have need of it,_ he'd stated simply.

_Then help me destroy him,_ he'd pleaded, pulling up his sleeve to show his Dark Mark. _Help me get my revenge._

_Help me stop the suffering. _

At that time he'd merely meant his own personal suffering, nothing more altruistic. He been young and stupid, and he had needed a way to atone for his sins, to purge himself and most of all, rid himself of that hideous biting pain. It had taken him many sleepless nights before he realized he would never be clean and many more to realise that no one else should ever have to suffer the way he had. He could accept his pain, even embrace it after a while-he had brought it on himself. It was a natural consequence and an inevitable result of being a fool. 

But the innocent ones never deserved that pain. He had to spare them, make sure no one else would ever have to go through what he had.

Most of the time he had succeeded. 

Unfortunately, there had been one crucial time when he had failed. Spectacularly. 

"Severus," the Headmaster said quietly, and he looked up to see Dumbledore's gentle eyes. "Why do you hate her so?" 

It was the very last thing he expected to be asked; he'd been thinking the interrogation would be more along the lines of why he had done what he had done. This new line of thinking threw him, and it was a minute before he could answer, throat tight. "Because she's a sneaky snarky pompous little brat from a Death Eater family who's in love with the Dark Arts. She has been nothing but rude and defiant and a danger to everyone ever since she came. Why should I like her?" 

The Headmaster a noise low in his throat while Snape's hand gripped his knees. "I would have thought that the both of you would at least respect what you have in common," he said, weariness obvious by the last words. "Yet you were against her from the start. You do seem to have a bias against the Dark Arts teachers, and she would of course notice that, and respond accordingly." 

The tightness grew worse. "So what you are saying is that this is ultimately my fault," he said, his entire mouth dry. "Despite the fact that I had every reason and every right to be suspicious and wary of a girl I knew was from a Death Eater family? She did what she pleased-and look what happened. People could have been hurt, killed." 

"Including herself. You also forget that she was acting under my permission the entire time," the Headmaster said, and waited for Snape to look up at him. "Right now, Severus, I am most concerned with finding out who set off that golem and why. I fear it may have been a plot to discredit Liliana-or even worse, to murder her. She has never tried to hide who she was from me." He rose and walked over to the room's single narrow window, peering through it at the ground below. 

"Then why didn't you say anything? Had I known you knew all about her, I would have taken her to you at once..." 

Dumbledore turned and gave him a sharp look. His heart sank. "That is what you should have done at the start. As for telling you who she really was, would it have made a difference? I doubt it. Despite your standoffish exterior, you are a man very much ruled by your emotions and prejudices...and sometimes not for the better."

Snape studied his hands. They looked very white, thin, and knobby against the black of his robes. "I apologise," he finally got out, his throat so constricted the words were little more then whispers. This was just like the werewolf, this was _worse_ then the werewolf. 

"Ah, Severus," the Headmaster said, and he felt the Headmaster touch his arm, a soft warmth spreading through his aching muscles. "I know what you most desire is to keep Hogwarts and myself safe from all harm and I am honoured that you consider me worthy of your protection." The Headmaster sighed and left his side again. "I only wish you would give those you I have promised to protect the same consideration." The small bit of gratitude he had felt at the compliment promptly faded at the disappointment in the Headmaster's voice. 

"So you intend to give her protection at the expense of others," he said, his voice low. He did not look at the Headmaster. 

Dumbledore gave an audible sigh. "I told Liliana that I would give her my protection and I intend to keep that promise." A warning note slipped into his voice. "She is not the only one here whose presence could expose Hogwarts to threats." 

Himself, the girl, Potter.

He stayed silent as the Headmaster began wandering around the room again, dusting a few things here, pushing other things over a few inches there, muttering to himself all the while. Snape watched this performance with a bit of trepidation bubbling in him. He'd seen this behavior before, right before the Headmaster made some odd request or gave someone a particularly unusual task. 

Dumbledore paused by his chair, still deep in thought from the expression on his face. 

He waited. 

"Severus, I've always thought your greatest strength was that you would do any task you were given to the utmost of your ability," the Headmaster finally said, a strange light in his eyes. 

He didn't like where this seemed to be leading. 

"I believe I've found a way to lay your suspicions about Liliana to rest, as well as give her a bit of extra protection, at least until we've ascertained what exactly is going on here," the Headmaster continued, sounding quite pleased about something. 

A drop of sweat trailed its way down his back.

"Severus, I want you to watch Liliana for me." 

There it was-proof that his life was no longer worth living. Might as well put himself out on the curb for Voldemort and be done with it. 

Well, he wasn't going to go down so easily. He leapt to his feet "WH..." 

"WHAT?" a voice shrieked in time with his, finishing his thought. The door flew open and the Woodville girl (obviously awake and very wobbly on her feet) marched in, high indignation written all over her face. She pointed at him with another shriek. "Crazed killer on the loose or what, I will NOT have HIM swooping around after me like an overgrown bat!" 

Well, the feeling was mutual then. "Headmaster, I fail to see how my following her is going to help anything," he said, his smile a bare stretch of his lips. "She hates me, and I am not fond of her either." 

"What he said," the girl snapped, swaying as she grabbed hold of a chair for support. "I will not have him sniffing around me on a regular basis." 

His eye did an involuntary twitch all of its own at her words. "I am not a dog," he informed the brat icily, turning his back on her angry face. 

The Headmaster remained calm despite their bickering, his eyes gleaming with what might have been mirth. "I think it's a fine idea and the best solution to everyone's problems. Liliana gets protection from an absolutely trustworthy source, Severus gets to see that Liliana is not evil." Dumbledore then gave them both another bright, blue look that told them they were going to do exactly as he said and not complain about it. "You two will just have to make the best of things until we've figured out what's going on. It is merely a temporary assignment." 

The small feeling of warmth he had gotten from being called "absolutely trustworthy" in the woman's presence wasn't enough to erase the knowledge that he was now responsible for the well-being of someone he despised. Constant contact was the last thing in the world he wanted, needed or desired. He felt his teeth grind and his heart rate jump at the thought of having to be around her on a regular basis. _He could not let her distract him._

The Woodville girl was breathing heavily, her eyes wide, the blue of her eyes just a thin ring around the pupil. She was making little incoherent sounds of rage, her hands working the chair's slipcover into knots. 

This was what the Headmaster wanted, so this was what the Headmaster would get. He bent close to her ear, his breath stirring the little wisps of her around her face. She saw him coming and froze, fingers suddenly stiff on the chair. 

"_This_is_all _your_fault_" he whispered, each word distinct. 

Her face crimsoned again and with a growl, she spun around and went for the door, slamming it behind as she ran. Her angry footsteps receded into the distance and he was left alone with the Headmaster, who was once again stroking Fawkes. The bird chirped in a rather morbid way. 

There was nothing left to say or do, so he might as well leave also. He went to the door, put his hand on the knob. 

The footsteps came back. 

"I forgot to say good night," the girl said, craning her head around the door. Her face was sullen, like a child being punished for a tantrum and her eyes did not leave the floor. 

"Good night Liliana," the Headmaster said quietly. 

She left again. He waited until her could no longer hear her footsteps, then walked into the other room, wanting nothing more in this world then to go back to his chambers and sleep. This had been one of the worst days of his life. 

And the rest of them weren't going to be much better. 

The Headmaster's voice floated out of the side room. "Severus." He stopped immediately.

"Good night Severus," the Headmaster said, framed in the side room's doorway. He looked very tired. 

"Good night," he said softly and left. 

"Fawkes, I sometimes believe I am getting too old for this," Dumbledore told the irritable phoenix, trying to soothe him with a little stroking. Fawkes was always bad tempered at a Burning time. He sighed, recalling Severus and Liliana's angry young faces. "They are both very obstinate and trying to get either to do something they dislike is like trying to smash a rock with a feather." 

Fawkes gave a grumpy little cheep. 

"Yes, I agree. It is vexing." He moved about, straightening the chairs and smoothing the slipcover Liliana had been trying to mutilate. When the room had been set to rights again, he returned to Fawkes's side. "But just think of it. If I can just get Severus to consider her worthy of protection, he will move heaven and earth itself to fulfill that duty." 

"And perhaps then," Dumbledore said quietly, his eyes pale and shining in the room's dim, "Liliana will try and support him in return." 


	8. One Week

** Part 7 : One Week **

_ -In reality, the mind is very, very fragile.   
There are cracks in everybody's minds- _   
**"niji" (rainbow) rurouni kenshin movie **

From the diary of Liliana Woodville: 

_ Tuesday: _

Woke up with terrible headache. Don't feel like being eloquent in diary because of said headache so posterity will have to live with it. Students are pissed because they can't hex anything anymore. Worried for a few moments that they might decide to start hexing me instead. I'm pissed because now I have to lecture until I find another way for them to curse things that won't turn on me in a suitably ironic way. Did lecture about vampires; students stayed interested long enough that there was a minimum of fidgeting. I can't stand fidgeting. It seems all those days and nights spent reading One Thousand and One Ways to Identify Ghouls, Hags and Gadabouts and the Compendium of Creatures So Dark and Dastardly They Eat Light for Breakfast  paid off. At least my eyes weren't ruined for nothing. 

Snape still following me like a overly stretched and mutated version of my own shadow. Won't leave me alone, even after I showed him a nice and convenient window he could jump out of. It was the right height and width and everything. Sneers that he promised the Headmaster. Well, I never promised the Headmaster that I wouldn't hex Snape into a jellyfish. Probably be an improvement. He could make friends with the giant squid in the lake, except the squid would probably be repulsed by Snape too. 

Lilika put her quill down and tried to rub away the tension in her forehead with stiff thumbs. Her headache had grown even worse over the course of the day and she was beginning to develop a slight cough as well. It was just about time for her to fall ill again; she hadn't been sick in oh, about six months now. She was always falling ill from something or another-colds, coughs, rashes and one memorable time, walking pneumonia, which caused her a five week stay in a Muggle hospital with doctors poking and prodding, trying to find the reason a perfectly healthy young woman kept falling ill. If that hadn't been enough, a few overly happy Muggle reporters had shown up as well, delighted to finally catch the elusive Lady Woodville in a position where she couldn't run away from them or better still, turn them into toadstools which could then be stepped on. 

Lilika snorted to herself. It wasn't as if she was all that high a noble anyway; her father had only been a baron, the lowest "rank" possible for a peer. No, they weren't interested in her just because she was a privacy-loving creature; they were interested in the only survivor of a family massacre. Nevermind that she had been miles away at the time. Her fingers plucked at her skirts. 

"I don't want to think about this," she said out loud to herself. "I'll just get all broody again, and brooding does not mix with headaches. I should just go to bed." 

With a snap of her fingers the bedside lamp went out. 

After the meeting with the Headmaster, Lilika had mentally prepared herself for even more unpleasantness from Snape. Headmaster's request aside, she never really believed Snape would temper his behavior towards her, and she strongly suspected that it would take more then a few words to change Snape's mindset towards her. 

She was right. 

After Tuesday, not a stellar day to start with, Lilika's week went rapidly downhill. Her headache persisted, despite trying nearly all of Madam Pomfrey's remedies for it, and her cough worsened into a rusty, painful hack that left her throat aching. Teaching her classes had become almost intolerable; her students lacked the patience to endure an entire week of nothing but lectures after they'd been having so much fun. The whispers and fidgeting were driving her to distraction and her entire teaching plan was in tatters. 

There were worse things then mere fidgeting. Fidgeting almost looked good next to the stares and whispers that dogged her in the halls after the attack and seeing the fear and suspicion on the faces of some of her students; they were the ones who refused to meet her eyes. Many seemed to think that since Dumbledore hadn't sacked her she wasn't responsible for the attack, but seeing the carefully downcast gaze of the few who did think her responsible made her stomach writhe. 

And Snape. Snape, who was fast becoming the first thing she saw in the morning and last thing she looked on at night, was close to driving her mad. In her weakened state, overwhelmed by the events of the past few days and her illness, his behavior was quietly and efficiently shredding away all her self-control. He seemed positively determined, nay, eager to be even nastier to her then he had been before, and now he was timing things so there was always an audience (usually Slytherins) for his frequent barbs. Lilika had no choice in these situations but to press her lips together more tightly, hold her head higher and pretend she had gone deaf. The man was begging to be hung upside down from the Whomping Willow in nothing but his shorts, but the thought of Snape in nothing but his shorts gave her stomach a nasty turn. 

On Wednesday she finally lost it after Snape made a particularly nasty crack about her dress and the effects the colour had on her complexion. Whilst the Slytherins around him sniggered appreciatively, she snapped. 

"Get away!" she growled, pointing at a nearby flight of stairs. "Promise or no-remove yourself from my presence-get you gone, squish away like the nasty little slime you are-just GO!" 

One of Snape's eyebrows went high and a smirk drifted across his face as he lapped up the proof of his success, almost licking his lips as if he was pulling the juicy bits of rage out of her words and savouring them. The Slytherins watched avidly, their eyes darting back and forth from one face to the other like darts, waiting with barely concealed eagerness for the next words from their Head's mouth. 

"My lady," he said smoothly, "I don't believe you can command me to do anything. You have no power here-something you very much seem to forget-and it certainly isn't my fault that you are such a fragile little flower that you require my constant protection and vigilance." The Slytherins laughed, nudging each other whilst her hands knotted themselves into fists that shook. 

"I am merely doing someone a favour by watching you," Snape went on, a benign expression on his narrow face. "I'm sure you don't want them to become disappointed because you are trying to prevent me from fulfilling my duty. This is all for you, after all. You might be a little more appreciative. Pity you are so ungrateful. The hallmark of a spoiled child." 

He'd taken to calling her "my lady" now, possibly trying to subtly tip off someone to the truth of her origins. She'd heard about Remus Lupin and how Snape had "accidentally" let slip the secret that he was a werewolf from Sinistra, and all Monday night her blood had swirled with icy dread at the idea that Snape might also "accidentally" slip that she was a Woodville. Dumbledore had apparently had a word with him on the subject however, as none of the other teachers had run shrieking in fear from her yet. No, they wouldn't run shrieking from her; they'd either try to hex her at sight, or close ranks and look at her from the corners of their eyes. Snape had been a flipping Death Eater and the faculty didn't seem to care, whilst she, who was pure and clean and had never succeeded in killing anyone in her life (and it had only been one person and she had a sneaking suspicion that most people would have not only preferred but approved it if she had managed to off Lucius Malfoy after all) was condemned because of the completely random accident of birth. Ahh, to be sport for the gods. 

Lilika listened to the snickers of the Slytherins, took in the cold, amused sneer on Snape's face and felt all of her resolve not to give in to Snape crystallize into large, sharp points. 

She let him off very leniently with "At least I don't have a nose so large it casts shade enough for ten men", turned on her heel and marched back to Ravenclaw Tower. 

By Thursday, the Slytherins knew their Head had an enemy and proving once more that birds of a feather flock together (especially if those birds were nasty and overeager vultures) set out to make her life absolutely miserable. Her Slytherin classes went wild, laughing and cavorting about, paying their lessons no mind and mocking her whenever her back was turned. She'd ended up taking nearly fifty points from Slytherin in retaliation; then word began to drift back that Snape was suddenly coming down very hard on the Ravenclaws for all sorts of trivial infractions. Gryffindor had been the only House that typically received that treatment and the whispers passing from person to person held her responsible. Low mutterings and angry eyes watched her from the shadows pooling in the corners of the Ravenclaw common room and Lilika had never been so glad to shut the door of her bedroom. 

Friday she awakened feeling flushed and agitated. When she looked at herself in the mirror, her eyes looked too bright, the pupils almost swallowing the blue. She put a finger to the glass and the image wavered, smearing as if seen through shifting water. 

Somehow she made it through her classes, her throat raw and her cough never-ending. To top it all off, her period came unexpectedly, wracking her with severe cramps and nausea. Lilika skipped dinner, saving what little remained of her energy to request a pain-killer from Madam Pomfrey, and she spent the rest of the night in a drugged stupor, finally falling asleep at dawn with the potion bottle clutched between unfeeling fingers. 

All the students had left for breakfast; the Tower was finally quiet. The Grey Lady smiled to herself as she began her daily inspection of Ravenclaw Tower, humming a tune from her youth as she went about her rounds. She took this duty very seriously; it was the core and purpose of her afterlife and when she was in an ironic mood she would say that she lived only to do it. 

She had lived in Ravenclaw, mourned her husband and friends in Ravenclaw, died in Ravenclaw and it had sheltered her, kept her steady for nearly five hundred years. Therefore the Tower must be looked after, cared for, neatened and above all loved so it could continue to shelter students and refugees for the next five hundred. 

She trailed lightly over the girl's dormitories, silvery skirts fluttering in a nonexistent wind, noting frayed curtains and chipped furniture. Professor Flitwick's rooms were always so neat; it always gave the Grey Lady a pale glow of approval when things were ordered correctly. Professor Sinistra's rooms were covered in star charts and papers scribbled with interplanetary conjunctions. Sinistra had once amused her greatly by offering to do a horoscope for her based on the star alignments at her birth and then calculating how many of the predictions had come true. Some had and many had not, but the ones that had been true had stunned her with their accuracy. Defeat by a bastard child, victim of rumours and a long exile were all certainly on the mark. The Grey Lady sighed, stroking the shining body of Sinistra's telescope with one pale finger, nudging away the dust that clung to the instrument. Poor Richard. He tried his hardest, but fate had turned away from him and when Richard had fallen, they all tumbled down with him. 

There remained only Professor Jardin's room to examine, and the Grey Lady set off, singing once more until she realized the tune was "Greensleeves" and broke off with an oath. She continued on her way, passing through several walls and taking a shortcut through the boys' dormitory. The Professor's room was right off the common room, and the nearest to the door out of Ravenclaw Tower. 

The Grey Lady was not afraid to admit she was very fond of the little professor, mostly because the girl reminded her so strongly of well...herself. A young woman lacking any kind of family, wealthy and well bred, fleeing to Hogwarts for refuge...Of course she had never had the Professor's positively foul temper or her irreverent manner, but the similarities were there. 

She slipped through the door of the Professor's room, frowned as she stepped into a dim, half-lit place where objects loomed out of the shadows like threats. The curtains were drawn and the light was still burning feebly at the bedside table. What was the reason? 

Blankets were massed into a lump in the center of the bed. 

"Still sleeping?" the Grey Lady asked, not yet worried. The professor _ did _ have a tendency to oversleep on the weekends. "Get up, my slug-a-bed; you'll miss breakfast and it will make you cross." 

A low moan rose from around the middle of the mass. "Please stop." 

The Grey Lady blinked twice. "Stop what?" Prickles of unease began tapping her gently and she bent, began unwinding the blankets. 

"The clock, the ticking clock. Please stop it. It makes my head ache so badly." 

She lost the concentration necessary to make her form solid enough for her to handle objects and the blankets slipped back between her transparent fingers. "There's no ticking clock here dearest," she finally replied. A few minutes pause; a few memories of deep breathing gave her back the composure she needed. 

The blankets parted, revealing a tangled mass of hair limp and clotted together with sweat. The Grey Lady brushed her finger over the hair, moved it enough to glimpse the girl's unnaturally red face beneath. She couldn't feel temperatures, but there was clearly no need. 

"That damn clock won't stop," Professor Jardin muttered and turned away. 

The Grey Lady was rooted to her spot on the bed, turmoil and fear causing the silvery mists of her body to churn and darken much like ocean water before a storm. Memories flooded her; a memory of panic, a memory of despair, a memory of a young woman in a room just like this one, lying in a bed remarkably similar to the one she was seated on now, burning with fever and tossing, raving, _ dying... _

She was halfway down the stairs of Ravenclaw Tower before she remembered herself, and as she hurried, she began to do something she hadn't done for nearly five hundred years. Yell. 

"PROFESSOR FLITWICK! PROFESSOR FLITWICK!" 

They had gathered in the Ravenclaw common room; himself, the Headmaster, and Professor Flitwick, all seated in a ring and waiting for a door to open. An hour passed. The only sounds audible were brief bursts of noise that emanated from behind the closed door in frustratingly incoherent and random intervals and the slow, ponderous ticking of the ancient grandfather clock that stood sentry in the Ravenclaw common room. Once in a great while they would hear the soft, strained sounds of the Grey Lady weeping. 

Flitwick leaned forward, touched the Headmaster's arm. "You must forgive her-you realise it's a heavy subject for her, that's how _ she _ died, after all...she had a right to be wild about it. And she is very fond of Lily." 

The Headmaster's reply was too low-pitched for him to catch, though he leaned forward as subtly as he could. He sat back again, muttered a curse under his breath. There was really no end of trouble from this girl. Pain and strife and stress; that was all she brought. 

Wood creaked from across the room, and he looked up just in time to see the door inch open and Madam Pomfrey's broad hand come around it and wave. "You can come in now, if you want," she called, and the hand disappeared. 

The Headmaster rose to his feet at once. "What's wrong with her Poppy?" he asked, striding to the door ahead of Flitwick and stopping right on the threshold. Flitwick managed to slip in underneath the Headmaster's arm, but Snape was left trying to peer over the Headmaster's shoulder. Snape could see Madam Pomfrey bustling about, tidying up her instruments and making little clucking sounds with her tongue. 

"Thankfully, it isn't serious. Oh, it looks bad, and she has a nasty fever, but it just seems to be a violent case of the flu. The fever's the tricky part-she was raving just a few moments ago. I've given her a sleeping potion and something to bring the fever down, but once the fever breaks she'll most likely be fine. Just weak." She sighed, looking grim. "I better lay in a good supply of Pepper-up Potion if she's passed it on to any of the students. That's just what I need-an outbreak of the flu and with the holidays coming up!" 

Just the flu! He snorted to himself. All this fuss over a common cold! Well, she never could do the simplest things without a lot of dramatics, now could she? 

Dumbledore caught his eye, nodded to him once while Flitwick was busy squeaking over the girl. He nodded back, mouth tight. 

They had already been over this plan, hastily formulated in the first few moments after they had learned of the girl's illness. Snape was to wait until Madam Pomfrey had departed and then carefully check the girl to insure that her condition wasn't the result of some hex or potion. After all, the Headmaster had pointed out, the timing was suspiciously close to the attack by the golem. If there was someone after the girl, they might be trying more evasive means the next time around. And what was alarming about a case of the flu? 

The Headmaster touched his arm once more, nodded to Madam Pomfrey and Flitwick, then slipped out the door, finally allowing him to step into the room and see things for the first time. 

The girl was nothing more then a limp curl of flesh underneath the heavy blankets of her bed, face turned away from him. Her raspy breathing echoed off the high ceilings, and it made his ears ache. 

Flitwick had left when he wasn't looking, mumbling something about telling the Grey Lady; that just left himself and Madam Pomfrey. Excellent. The faster this could be done, the happier he would be and he didn't want to stick around too long in a room filled with the fetid smell of sickness and distorted breathing. He moved to her side, pressed a finger into her hot cheek. The bright red of her skin faded away from his touch, leaving a small white dent. He took the finger away and watched the red flow slowly back into the depression his finger had left. 

"Professor Snape?" Madam Pomfrey said from behind him and he nearly jumped. Fine thing this was, being so involved with this girl he forgot everything else! She wasn't worth it. 

"Are you planning to stay?" Pomfrey asked, and he nodded, a quick jerk of his head. She looked pleased. "Good. You don't mind keeping an eye on her for a few moments while I go and get my things from the infirmary, do you? I'm going to be watching her all night." 

"No, I don't mind." _ Not when I'm forced to be here anyway. _

"Thank you," she said, looking so perfectly cheerful he wanted to shake her. 

The girl shifted, turned over. Her hair fell in damp waves across her face and Madam Pomfrey brushed it away with a grimace. "I'll have to braid her hair out of the way-goodness, how does a little thing like that manage with all that hair?" 

"I haven't the slightest idea, nor do I care," he said stiffly. "Now, Madam Pomfrey, I do have other things that require my attention..." 

"Of course." Pomfrey picked up her bag and moved to go. Finally! He slid his wand out of his sleeve, waiting for the precise moment when Pomfrey left the room. 

The Woodville girl's eye moved restlessly under the lids, very much like the way they had under the Veritaserum, and she began to murmur, then whisper brokenly to herself. 

"Nurse," she called suddenly, eyes still shut tight. "Nurse! I didn't say you could leave. I need you here beside me." Her tone was lighter and higher then normal, with the peevish undertone and petulant pout of a child used to being obeyed at once. 

Snape stared at her. Was there no limit to the girl's nerve? "I don't believe you," he finally hissed. "Do you think everyone here is at your beck and call?" 

Madam Pomfrey moved back to his side, placed a hand on the girl's forehead. "Oh, don't get so worked up." She looked up at him, eyes round and serious. "Don't you realise, Professor? She's not calling for me. She's most likely calling for a nanny she once had. I've seen this before; lots of people slip back to their childhoods when they're delirious. She hasn't been in her right mind since I came up here." She took her hand away from the girl's forehead, shaking it as if she'd been scalded. "Her forehead's still hot." 

"Mother Greta," the girl said, a hint of panic crawling into her voice. "Where are you? You promised...you promised you wouldn't leave me. Clara, Agnes." She stretched her hands out imploringly, eyes now open and darting desperately around the room. "Where are you? I can't find you anywhere." 

Madam Pomfrey shook her head. "Didn't think she'd come out of it so soon," she muttered, a pensive look crossing her face. "I'd better get a stronger grade of Sleeping Potion if she's going to get any rest at all tonight." 

Pomfrey left-much more quickly this time-and he was left with a delirious girl who seemed to have drifted back into her childhood. Her eyes had shut once more, but her limbs were still twitching under the covers. 

"Just hold still," he murmured in what he hoped passed for a soothing tone, tapping his wand lightly on the hollow of her throat. "This will only take a minute..." 

Her eyes opened. 

"Don't," she said clearly, hands locking into place around his wand and pushing it off her throat. "I won't let you." 

He touched the wand to her skin again. "Stop being so bothersome, you wretched girl. I ought to start a tab billing you for all the trouble I go through on your behalf. Now HOLD STILL." 

Anyone else would have, should have frozen at his tone, but oh no, not her. She rose weakly, leaning heavily on her right side and shoved his wand away again, her breathing so rough it seemed like each breath was abrading her throat. 

"You hate me," she whispered, her blue eyes so cold he could have gone ice-skating on them. "You've always hated me! I will not let you do this." 

He shrugged, determined to keep his emotions from showing on his face. "What you want is irrelevant; I'm trying to help you. Accept it." 

Her eyes locked onto his. They were flat and empty; mirrors turned inward, keeping everything hidden from him. "Do you want me to die?" Her voice was level, serious and steady. 

Snape rolled his eyes and bit back a sigh. "Sane or delirious, you can't get that particular notion out of your foolish mind, can you? Rest assured, Miss Woodville that I am not after your life, although if you continue to behave in your usual immature and vexing manner I might be before long." He took hold of her narrow shoulders, forced her to lie back as she squirmed in his grip. "Cease your convulsing so I can do my job." 

"Father will kill you!" she gasped as she fought against his hands. "Don't think you can get away with this!" 

He looked at her, taking in the fever-flushed cheeks, the matted black hair and her glassy, hate-filled eyes. He loosened his grip for just a moment. 

"Your father is dead," he said as patiently as he could manage and tilted his head so he could stare directly into her eyes. The Woodville girl blinked a few times and then the corner of her mouth drew up. 

"Now you're just being ridiculous," she said, shaking her head, the same small grimace on her lips. Some of her hair fell back into her eyes and he brushed it away, held it out of her face so he could keep watching her eyes. "Stop trying to trick me, Mother; we both know Father isn't dead. He just went to Austria on business." 

Snape dropped his hands to her shoulders, felt them curve inward under his fingers, the high sweet voice of a child echoing through his mind. "Ah," he said quietly, a gleam of comprehension rising. "You're reliving the time you were Sealed, aren't you?" 

What she might have said he would never know, for at that moment Madam Pomfrey returned, lugging a large bag that appeared to be stuffed to the brim with jars and supplies. Snape quickly moved his hands off of the girl; she lay back against the pillows, panting like a man on a hard race. 

"Now," said Madam Pomfrey, bustling over to the girl with a large blue-tinged bottle. "My dear, let's get you settled..." 

Madam Pomfrey laid a hand on her shoulder and the girl went wild. 

"NO! NO!" she shrieked frantically, slapping at Madam Pomfrey's hands. "GET AWAY FROM ME!" 

The jars went flying; some broke against the rug and the room filled with the acrid, nose-tightening smell of medicinal herbs. Madam Pomfrey was trying in vain to control the raging girl, who was screaming and kicking as if a dozen strong men were around her. Blood shone on the nurse's face from where the girl's nails had slashed her and he realised with a bit of shock that Madam Pomfrey was not going to be able to control the girl on her own. 

"STOP IT!" he yelled, pulling Miss Woodville away from Madam Pomfrey. "CONTROL YOURSELF!" Nothing he said did any good; if anything his shouts seemed to frighten her and made her fight all the harder. 

"I WON'T LET YOU!" she yelled, clearly hysterical. Her lips were drawn back from her teeth like a wild animal waiting to spring and tear throats out. Snape wrapped his arms around her and managed to pin her arms down to her sides, but not before she clawed at his face, leaving a long, bleeding wound. 

"She can't hear you," Madam Pomfrey said hoarsely from across the room. She was dabbing at the cut on her face. "Yelling isn't going to do any good; she's in her own world now. You don't matter to her." 

"She will not be allowed to act like this, delirium or no," he snarled, feeling blood dribble down his face. "Not when she's injuring people." The girl continued to struggle, small gasps of rage escaping her lips. If he didn't find a way to hold her still and keep her subdued he would be left unable to fulfill his duty. That could not be tolerated. 

He settled onto the bed, wrapped his much longer arms and legs around her small body so she was effectively trapped in his lap. Her body burned as if fire simmered in her veins instead of blood; the heat seeped into his bones, making him feel briefly light-headed. Still she fought him. He circled his left arm around her waist, leaving her arms pinioned to her sides, and raised his wand. 

"I'm going to do my job now," he muttered, "and _ no one _ is going to interfere." 

"Don't Stun her!" Madam Pomfrey yelped in alarm. 

He ignored her and settled the point of his wand in the hollow between her breasts, right over the Woodville girl's heart. 

It was a simple scrying spell, meant to reveal any abnormal magic or enchantments that might have been cast over a person. He closed his eyes, letting the picture the wand gave him flow into his mind; absolutely no fresh enchantments of any sort. So, it was just a case of the flu. 

But what was this? 

Right over her heart, just about where his wand was positioned, there was a most curious object. It resembled nothing more then a large tangled knot of ribbons, all twined and twisted together with the free ends streaming in all directions. The loose ribbons pulsed with a dull golden light while the knotting itself was more of a grey. His eyebrows came together and he frowned. _ What the hell? _

The girl moaned and shifted in his arms. 

"Stop it," he murmured, resting his chin on top of her head while he prodded the odd item through his spell. He could dimly hear Madam Pomfrey calling him as if from a great distance and he did not care. 

Some of the ribbons looked a bit crinkled, as if they had been tied and then straightened out. The knot itself also bulged in strange places; as if someone had been pulling at the twining ribbons, trying to loosen it. He pulled lightly at one of the slacker turns in the knot and she gasped. 

"I see," he whispered, feeling a mounting excitement course through his veins. " _ I see. _ This is your Seal, isn't it?" He tugged again at the loose fold, attempting to work it free. "Someone's already been at this, hmm? You? I doubt it," he muttered into her hair. "Enchantments like this are usually cast so the victim can't undo it...was your father trying to free you? How thoughtful of Andrew." 

So, if he was right (and he was almost entirely certain he was) the ribbons represented her magic power and the knot was the representation of the flow of power being choked off. He continued his efforts to tease the lax strand free, all the while wondering if this was the right thing to do. Freeing her from the Seal would only give her more power; and if the thickness of the free ribbons represented the power of the wizard then she was already commanding a fair bit of power. Not as powerful as him, but certainly enough to be a decent and potentially dangerous threat. He shrugged, dismissing his qualms. The pleasure of having something to hold over her head spurred him on despite his misgivings. 

"Ungrateful minx," he breathed as her movements became more violent. "Stop fighting me-you will be thankful for this later, though I'm sure you won't admit it. And I anticipate a very large favour in return." 

She whimpered in his grasp. 

Another tug and his thread slipped free, joining the others now flowing off to different directions and he laughed out loud, feeling quite pleased with his triumph. Snape then turned his attention to other loose strands, pulling with his power, coaxing reluctant ends free. Each time a ribbon fell free she would thrash and make low-pitched sounds, but he only took casual notice of her reactions. 

"Relax," he said sharply after her movements threatened to become too agitated, tightening his arm around her body. "Relax. This is for your own good." 

He shifted his chin into a more comfortable place on her hair and breathed deeply. She smelt of illness and the fulsome scent of fever sweat, but underneath the more offensive smells lay hints of vanilla and lavender and he inhaled again, searching for the sweetness hiding within the reek. 

"Stop," she muttered, twining against him. "Stop..." 

He lifted his nose from her hair. 

"I'll stop when I'm done," he snapped, returning his attention to the shrunken knot hovering in her chest. "It won't kill you to stay still for a few more moments. Go to sleep or something." 

The knot was by now much smaller, but the ribbons that lay at the center were bound together so tightly he could find no room to slip his magic in. He tried, pulling and picking, but after several long and frustrating minutes only a tiny bit had been pulled out. He gritted his teeth and redoubled his attempts as the girl writhed. 

_ There... _ His thread became looser and he clutched it with all his strength. 

Miss Woodville had become perfectly still in his lap. 

_ Almost have it... _

The golden ribbons flashed, the light so bright it blinded him for a few moments. The girl slumped forward. "Miss Woodville..?" 

Snape barely had time to process all this-light, blind, girl-before a force pushed very hard on his chest. 

He flew backwards out the bedroom door and smacked hard into the floor of the Ravenclaw common room, skidding to a stop almost at the feet of the Headmaster and Madam Pomfrey. He groaned quietly, already feeling the bruises rising on his hip. 

"Ah, Severus," the Headmaster said, offering him a hand up with what looked like a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. "I did wonder when you were going to finish, but I hadn't the heart to interrupt you while you were so engrossed. You're not hurt?" 

"No, I..." Before he could finish, Madam Pomfrey shrieked and pointed at the room he had just exited. "Look!" 

Books were flying about, hurling themselves off shelves with abandon and crashing into the floor with loud, gleeful thumps. The Headmaster crossed to the door, peered in, then ducked as a book flew past him at roughly the speed of light. "How very interesting." 

"Is Miss Woodville doing this, sir?" Snape asked quietly, eyeing Madam Pomfrey. "I'm afraid I might have caused this-that Seal she's under..." 

With soft, rapid words he told the Headmaster of spotting the Seal during his examination, and of his efforts to loosen it. Dumbledore nodded at several points in his explanation but made no comment. "Stored energy gone wild-and since she's ill she's unable to control it," the Headmaster muttered. "I suppose I'd better put a stop to this before our Dark Arts professor damages herself or her library further." 

The Headmaster ducked inside the room and there was a brief flare of light, then several thuds as errant books dropped out of flight and onto the floor. Madam Pomfrey darted back inside, and he heard a very audible gasp followed by more worried hen noises. The Headmaster remained inside the room, talking in a low, reassuring rumble; whether it was meant for the girl or Madam Pomfrey he couldn't tell. 

So that was that. He glanced at the bedroom door quickly, but the Headmaster showed no signs of emerging anytime soon. There was really no reason to stay: he had completed his task as promised and now there was no further use for him. Snape tucked his wand back into his sleeve, turned to go-he did have several potions waiting for his attention-and came face to face with the brilliant silver stare of the Grey Lady. 

"What did you do to her?" she asked softly, her eyebrows raised and her gaze imperious. Noblewomen were all alike. 

"I did nothing to your precious lady," he snapped, turning to go past her-or through her if it became necessary. "I have things that require my attention elsewhere, so kindly move out of my way." 

She folded her arms across her chest and narrowed her eyes further and the pale light that radiated off her turned a somber and murky grey. "You were holding her, doing something to her, all in a most inappropriate manner. I ask you again. What did you do to her?" 

He could feel a vein throbbing in his temple. Everything he did in regard to that woman was treated with suspicion and misgivings, even when he was trying to help. Did his years of loyal service count for nothing where this girl was involved? "It was all for her own benefit! Ask the Headmaster if you don't believe me. I have nothing further to say to you; now move please." 

He was getting thoroughly tired of this. Pestered by a ghost and a girl. Perhaps the Grey Lady was some distant ancestor of the Woodville girl; it would explain perfectly why they were both so damn haughty and annoying. 

The Grey Lady looked at him once more, then stepped aside, a grim expression on her translucent features. He strode past her, out the door to Ravenclaw and began to make his way down the steep and winding stairs. 

"She doesn't like you, you know!" the Grey Lady shouted when he was halfway down the staircase. 

"Tell her the feeling is mutual then!" he yelled back, and stalked back to his dungeons, in a very bad frame of mind all the way. 

The note came for him after his third period class; a simply folded sheet of parchment with many ink blots showing darkly upon it. He opened it carefully, using a spare quill and the tips of his fingers; skimmed the contents, recognised the spidery handwriting and groaned. No wonder the letter was so messy. Why didn't she get someone to write it for her if her fingers were still too weak to hold a quill properly? 

_ Snape:   
I want to talk to you. Get yourself up here whenever you have a free moment, but no later then three.   
LW _

"Of all the cheek," he muttered, folding her note into smaller and smaller squares. "Does she think I'm at her beck and call?" 

At precisely five minutes before three he entered Ravenclaw Tower and walked over to her room, a sweet and rather melancholy tune ringing in the air around him. So, apparently she was well enough to both be her usual rude self and to play music very loudly. He stood and listened for a moment. Single piano notes clear and chiming like bells, lots of humming and words sung in a language he couldn't identify. 

_Je voudrais, si je le pouvais...lalalu..si je le pouvais _

He rapped on the door forcefully. The musics' volume seesawed for a moment, then lowered. "Come in," she called, in a distinctly irritated tone of voice. 

_ Amai kodo wo...kowasanai you ni _

Snape entered and stopped in the doorway, arms crossed and fingers tapping his elbows impatiently. The Woodville girl looked up from her bed, her expression both expectant and annoyed. She lay propped up on pillows, a dark blue dressing gown around her shoulders and her face had a nasty green tint to it that made her look as though she was fighting a bad case of seasickness. Her hair was braided and fell heavily over one shoulder; it looked unwashed and most likely hadn't been, and a large black book lay on the covers at her side, the pages ruffled. She took her round black glasses off and shook her head disapprovingly at him. "Finally." 

"Don't give me that," he sneered. "You're damn lucky I came here at all, after receiving your filthy and arrogant little scribble. What do you want?" 

_ yoake ni...kirameku...hikari no naifu de... _

Her eyebrows made a quick trip to her hairline and came back down again, yet amazingly she remained silent. The girl folded her hands neatly in her lap and eyed him for a few minutes, her expression neutral. 

"I understand you are the one taking over my classes while I'm recuperating," she said smoothly, before he could wonder at the meaning of her behavior. "Why is that?" 

"Why? Because I am the one with the most experience in the Dark Arts at this school," he said stiffly, still slightly put off by her calm attitude. 

"And yet you say that without a trace of irony," she said in a musing tone, her lips pursed. 

_ anata no...yume no naka...nozoite mitai... _

He found himself leaning over her bed with no recollection of having moved, fighting a very strong urge to show her exactly, down to the finest details why it was not a good idea to cross him. "You vicious, ungrateful woman," he whispered, face close to hers and noticed with distant satisfaction that she had pressed back against the pillows ever so slightly. "You should be on your knees thanking me that your classes will not suffer your absence! My life now has to revolve around _ your _ problems and yet you refuse to show even a little proper gratitude for everything I do for you, much less even acknowledge it!" 

_ itooshii...sono mune no. _

"Everything you do for me?" she said very quietly. "Like what you did to my power?" 

"What?" he asked and actually blinked in confusion, the unexpected question bringing his fury to a halt. "What are you talking about?" 

"You know perfectly well what I mean Severus Snape." She hissed his name like it was a curse, like something filthy that deserved to be dragged in the mud, her thin face distorting with anger. "You took it upon yourself to try and undo my Seal that night...not even caring that it felt like a thousand knives stabbing me every time you dissolved a bit...yes, it _ hurt. _ And you neither noticed, cared or stopped." 

_ chiisaku furueru _

"I didn't realise! I thought you were thrashing about because of the fever!" Beads of sweat slipped down his face, pooled at the back of his neck. 

"That's another thing! I wasn't in my right mind that night, yet you went ahead and did something that will have a major affect my life from now on without asking my permission or if this was something I wanted! Now I have to get used to dealing with a whole new level of power then what I'm used to and I can't handle this while I'm sick! I tried to _Accio_ a book before and the damn thing came at me so fast it nearly broke my hand!" 

Her words came out on a quiet but very angry rasp and to his alarm she moved forward, leaning in ever closer in her fury. He found himself moving back until he nearly tumbled off the edge of the bed. 

_ This...isn't right. _

The Woodville girl leaned back against her pillows once more, face pale and eyes glittering, her fury apparently spent. They looked at each other in silence for what seemed like a very long while. 

Then...she laughed. 

"Now you see how it feels when someone gets right in your face!" she chuckled. Her laughter turned into a fit of coughing and she turned away to take a handkerchief from her bedside table. 

He got back to his feet with a most undignified scramble, felt hot blood flooding his face. "You...you..." 

She tilted a brow at him. "You can't take being on the receiving end, can you? I meant what I said, Snape. I'm not happy with you right now...though I've never been happy with you to begin with." 

"I was only trying to help!" he snarled, nearly biting his tongue off in rage. "You at least have more power now, you can defend yourself better, can't you find some satisfaction in that?" Silence was his answer and he found himself not wanting to look at her face. "Fine. I promise I will never again do anything to you without your permission. Happy?" 

"Is that all you're going to say?" she asked softly. 

"Yes!" He couldn't stand this. She was angry at him and he was angry at himself because she was angry at him and he was even more angry with himself for caring about what she thought... 

She picked up a folder that had been lying on her night table, pushed it towards him. "My lesson plan. All my classes have an exam next Monday; the outline for each year is inside. You will make sure to go over all the review material with all my classes?" 

"Don't tell me how to teach," he snapped, tucking the folder into his robes. "I'll come to you if there are any problems." 

"Fine," she said, suddenly sounding very tired. The girl rolled away from him and pulled her covers over her head. "You can show yourself out, I'm going to take a nap." 

"Goodnight," he growled, heading for the door. He shut it a little too loudly behind him and left Ravenclaw Tower for his dungeons with a queer throbbing tightness in his chest and the last strains of her music beating in his ears. 

_ I refuse to grow soft...I cannot tolerate any weaknesses now... _

_ Anata no yume no iro... _

"C'mon Hermione," Ron said through a mouthful of potato. "It's got to be you. Snape'll go nuts if he finds out Harry or I ratted him out. So, what do you say?" 

"Why can't any of the other Gryffindors do it?" Hermione replied, feeling a little frustration bubble up. _ Oh of course, let's use good old reliable Hermione as if she didn't have enough to do already with three exams and two papers coming up! _ "Snape's just as likely to go off on me as any of the others, right?" 

Ron took another helping, darting a look at Harry as he did, but Harry was staring off into the shadows that lined the Great Hall and eating in a rather mechanical way. The distant look in his eyes gave the impression that he could be eating Galleons instead of cereal and scarcely notice. She tried to fight down a twinge of worry as she watched him, knowing perfectly well that if she questioned him he would deny anything was wrong once again. 

"Right, but I reckon if things go well Snape won't even know it was one of us who told. And we're the best friends Neville's got, you have to admit that," Ron said and finally pushed his plate away with a sigh. "The woman might be a complete loony but I'd take her over Snape any day." 

Hermione turned her head to look at the empty seat up at the high table. Professor Jardin had been out for almost a week now, and most of the Gryffindors (and every other House except Slytherin) seemed ready to snap under the pressure of having Snape snarl at them twice a day, every day. 

Ron caught what she was staring at and turned around himself. "Snape seems to hate her as much as Lupin," Ron said in a low voice, peering at Snape out of the corner of his eyes. "Wonder why?" 

"Maybe they knew each other when they were younger, just like with Sirius and Professor Lupin," Hermione replied, a little distracted. Was it her imagination or did Snape's narrow eyes keep flicking over to Professor Jardin's empty chair? 

"I don't think so," Harry said unexpectedly and she jumped, cracking her shin painfully against one of the table supports. "I heard she didn't go to Hogwarts and Sirius said he's never heard of any wizarding family with that last name." 

"Finally decided to rejoin us, eh Harry?" Ron said, clapping Harry on the back with a look of delight. "You haven't said a word all morning." Ron's face was cheerful, but he sent a look over to Hermione that clearly said _ Help me out here. _ "Sirius said he'd be coming for Christmas, right? Doesn't that help a bit?" 

"Yeah," Harry said slowly, picking at what remained of his food. "He did." 

"No news is good news, right, Hermione?" Ron said, his cheer starting to sound a little forced. 

She put on a smile, tried to make her tone light. "I guess." 

Harry stood up, his face drawn and dark in the candlelight. He simply stood there for several minutes, eyes fixed on some object only he could see. 

"That's what I used to think," Harry finally said, in a very quiet voice. 

Later that day, Hermione climbed the stairs to Ravenclaw Tower, where Professor Jardin had her rooms, feeling a constant dull ache of apprehension with every step. She'd needed special permission from Professor Flitwick in order to enter the Tower, as students were typically not allowed into other Houses' common rooms. The staircase was very steep and became tighter at every turn, so when she finally came in sight of the door she had to sit down and take a few deep breaths, wondering dizzily how the Ravenclaw students managed it. 

Ron had disappeared with Harry after lunch, citing the need to cheer Harry up and judging from the lack of enthusiasm on Harry's face Ron's efforts weren't going to be worth much. Hermione breathed a sigh into the palm of her hand. Harry was so distant this year-so _ worried _ even though he tried to hide it. He had every right to be, yet...She still vividly remembered the look on Harry's face as he told her flatly at the beginning of the school year that no, his scar hadn't hurt once and there had been no dreams. Far from making a triumphant return, You-Know-Who had instead seemed to vanish off the face of the Earth. No disappearances, no Dark Magic flying about, nothing...Even Sirius couldn't find any news of Voldemort's return despite the very secret things he was busy doing for Dumbledore and every owl he sent merely said "No word" whenever the subject turned to Voldemort. 

The silence was getting to Harry. 

Her breath caught, Hermione stood up and climbed the last few steps to the door. After a quick look to make sure no one was around, she whispered the special password Professor Flitwick had given her. 

The large raven statue swung out silently from its niche in the wall and Hermione stepped through. 

"First door on the left...first door on the left," she muttered, trying to ignore her pounding heart and the sweat collecting on her sides. Professor Jardin had quite a temper and once she heard what Snape was doing to her classes...not to mention that it just wasn't right to criticize one teacher in front of the other... 

The first door on the left was shut fast. Hermione raised her hand and gave a few quick and timid sounding raps, then waited, scolding herself for being so nervous. 

"Who is it?" the Professor called from behind the door, sounding a bit puzzled. 

"Hermione Granger ma'am," she replied, licking her dry lips. 

She could a few startled exclamations and then the door eased open. "Come in." 

"If I'm bothering you ma'am, I can come again later..." she said, stepping into the room and fumbling with the door knob so it would shut properly. 

The room turned out to be small, blue and quite pretty, with lots of dark wood and a curved window seat. There were many bookcases, filled with many large, heavy books all bound in dark leathers and several bore stamped of gold and silver titles in languages Hermione couldn't identify. Her eyes jumped from book to book, a sharp feeling of envy pricking her. To own all those books...to hold them and call them your own...to be able to read all those books and have that knowledge safe inside you... 

In the centre of everything was a large four-poster with pale blue curtains where Professor Jardin was sitting, wearing a deep red dressing gown with a temptingly fat black book bearing the title _ The Big Book of Darkness _ in lacy golden script on the cover laying at her side. The Professor's face was dead white and large dark blue circles rimmed her eyes, making her irises look bleached of colour in comparison. Those pale eyes flicked over her and Hermione shifted her eyes, feeling a bright red wave of embarrassment slide over her face. 

One of the Professor's sharply slanted eyebrows went up. "You're not bothering me at all. I was just doing some light reading." She patted the book with a small hand. The branching blue veins could clearly be seen through skin made transparent by illness and Hermione fought down a stab of revulsion. "I've been doing research on magic circles vs. magic wands in my free time. Circles would certainly solve the problem of not having access to a wand. Though, I'm not sure if magic circles are really feasible for most wizards." 

"Yes ma'am. That is very interesting, ma'am," Hermione replied dutifully, even though under normal circumstances she would have dearly loved to have a discussion with the Professor on the subject. There were several books she had just read that touched on that very subject and there really was no one in the school to debate the finer points of wands against free magic with and Flencher's book had some really lovely arguments on the issue... 

Professor Jardin's lip quirked, just a tiny lift at the corner. "Spit it out." 

"Excuse me, ma'am?" _ She's ill, remember she's ill... _

"Spit_it_out. I have no patience for the indirect approach when I'm ill, Miss Granger. You clearly have something bothering you, so get it out." 

Hermione quaked. 

"You don't understand!" she heard herself wailing suddenly. Part of her was horrified; another, larger part was happy to see her tongue finally loose. "I really don't want to criticize a teacher in front of another teacher, but it's really not right what Professor Snape's been doing and..." 

The Professor closed her eyes for a moment and whispered something to herself. Her eyes reopened, looking as hard and glassy as marbles. 

"Snape?" the Professor said, in a tone only a few degrees removed from sub-zero. "Just what has Professor Snape been doing with my classes? Hasn't he been going over the material for your exams like I had specifically asked?" 

Hermione felt a terrific desire to wring her hands but managed to keep it from manifesting. "Well, ma'am, he has, but only up to a point." 

"Explain." 

"He went over it somewhat," Hermione started. _ When he wasn't insulting you, that is. _ "Then he said we were all horribly behind and that it was ridiculous to give the Dark Arts job over to someone so young who clearly didn't have any idea how to teach it properly. Even when people told him that they needed more time to go over things for the test he wouldn't listen. He said that we would have to have someone teach us right for once and he wasn't going to waste the opportunity. But that's not the worst of it..." 

The Defense Against the Dark Arts professor was twisting the coverlet in her hands and her mouth was so thin and tight with anger that it seemed to disappear off her face. Her face had hardened and now looked almost like a mask carved of stone, the bright burning blue of her eyes the only living, moving part. "Not the worst?" she said, in a peculiar, detached kind of voice. "What is the worst, Miss Granger?" 

Hermione gave in and wrung her hands. _ This is just as bad as I imagined it and even worse too. _ "Ma'am, you must understand that this is only what I've heard, but Justin Finch-Fletchley told me that Professor Snape got angry at the fifth year Hufflepuffs when they said they needed more help and wouldn't do anything with them that period. They lost a whole day. And Neville...Neville Longbottom...Ma'am, Professor Snape was _ furious _ when Neville couldn't answer his questions. Neville was so scared...Professor Snape barred him from class for the week. He's been out since Monday." Her voice dropped to a whisper as she reached the end. 

"I'm going to kill him," Professor Jardin said with a quiet certainty that gave Hermione chills. "I'm going to kill him and then I'm going to resurrect him so I can kill him again. Neville Longbottom! That boy needs every class he can get! Does Snape give a damn about anything?" 

To Hermione's surprise, the Professor swung her legs over and climbed out of bed. Stumbling a little, she made her way over to a large squat chest, flipped the lid open and began rummaging through it, eventually coming up with a pair of black stockings and a sheer white scarf. 

"Ma'am, what are you doing?" Hermione asked, her alarm mounting with every move the Professor made. Surely...surely she didn't mean to... 

"I'm going to take my class back," the Professor said calmly, talking around a handful of bobby pins she was holding in her mouth. She spat them out and used them to anchor her braids on top of her head, then turned and pulled open the doors of an armoire. "Miss Granger, if you would be so kind as to leave so I can get dressed?" 

"But you're still sick," she protested weakly. The Professor sent her a sharp look; her eyes were full with a brilliant, manic gleam. Hermione quickly swallowed. "I am not going to sit around and let this eat at me. I'm going to get Snape _ now." _

"Right," she said, backing away. "I'll just leave then." _ Maybe Ron wasn't so far off base after all. _ Hermione stepped quickly through the door and shut it gently behind her. 

"Stay there," Professor Jardin yelled, her voice accompanied by the sound of much rustling. "I want you to come with me." 

_ Oh no... _

Professor Jardin was trying to move at a brisk pace, but the effort was clearly tiring her. Hermione walked at her side, mute. Each time she had offered assistance to the obviously frail Professor she was rebuffed, so she quit asking. The long corridor was deathly silent and Hermione had nothing to say nor any desire to speak; the Professor walked on with her mouth set in a grim line and Hermione crept along at her side, suffering from both nervousness and indignation. 

_ She looks like she's going to collapse any minute! Why can't she stop being stubborn and stupid and rest for a bit? She'll be in no condition to tackle Snape if we even manage to get there. _ She hid a sigh behind a fake yawn. _ I thought only Ron got like this, but obviously not. _

They reached the the drab beige walls that marked the beginning of the echoing corridor where Defense Against the Dark Arts was held and stopped in front of the first thick wooden door. Professor Jardin reached out and placed her fingertips on the door, then closed her eyes. 

"Thursday, sixth period-Slytherin fourth years," she muttered. _ "God damn it all to hell." _

Hermione pretended not to hear that. 

The Professor reached out and turned the brass knob on the door, then tried to push it open. Her strength seemed to give out before she could get it open all the way and the door fell shut once more. "Miss Granger. Please," she asked, her voice weary and ragged around the edges. 

Ignoring all the inner warning voices shrieking at her, Hermione stepped forward and opened the door. Snape's voice became audible as the door slowly opened, creaking faintly as if in protest. He seemed to be in the middle of a lecture on ghouls, but his voice died away abruptly when he saw Professor Jardin framed in the doorway. 

Professor Jardin slipped into the classroom, her feet silent on the stone floor. She walked slowly into the centre of the room and cast a slow, deliberate look around at the shocked Slytherins, then faced Snape and snarled: "What the HELL are YOU doing to MY classes?!" 

Whatever Snape might have been feeling at that moment, it didn't show on his face. "Professor Jardin. I believe you should still be on bed rest? You shouldn't be here," he said composedly. Professor Jardin's fists clenched and Hermione saw a fine tremble run up her arm. 

"Shut up," Professor Jardin said in a frightening whisper, her mouth shaping into a feral grimace. "Just shut up, _ you bastard. _ " 

Snape's lips drew back from his teeth. "My lady, I'm afraid I haven't the slightest idea what you're so worked up about." 

Hermione clung to the door with clumsy fingers whilst the Slytherins got over their shock, settled down and began chatting amongst themselves. They looked quite ready to watch Snape and Professor Jardin go at it and many even looked eager at the prospect. 

"How dare you muck around with my classes, after I had asked you specially to make sure everyone would be prepared! All my plans for the exam ruined! Neville Longbottom, Snape! The fifth year Hufflepuffs! God alone knows who else!" the Dark Arts Professor raged, the tendons on her neck standing out. "Haven't you done enough to me? Haven't you?" 

Snape went very still; his face blanched and his eyes grew as hard as diamonds. Very slowly, he turned to stare at Hermione and the cold fury in his eyes made her cringe back against the door. _ "You!" _

Professor Jardin mercifully stepped in between Hermione and Snape's ugly stare, her back rigid. "I swear to God that if you take any anger out on Hermione Granger or Neville Longbottom or anyone other then your precious Slytherins I will make you regret it with every iota of your being, Snape." 

"Don't make yourself hysterical again," Snape said, his greasy hair shrouding his eyes. There was a bite to his voice. "You'll just get sicker." 

"Don't tell me what to do, Snape," Professor Jardin said in a mocking lilt, her eyes full of the same derision. A muscle in the side of his face jumped. 

"I thought there wasn't anything you could do to make me hate you more, but this proved me wrong," the Dark Arts professor said quietly, her voice now hoarse and thick with effort and strain. "You have no problem screwing around with my classes and my work, but God forbid I do the same to you. Would any of the other professors here have done something like this? No! If I had done something like this to you-and I wouldn't because I at least HAVE some RESPECT for other people's work!-you would have had me sacked almost at once, right? But you obviously think yourself above the rules and above treating people decently, so of course you don't care." 

Hermione realised, trying to swallow against the awful lump in her throat that the hitch in the Professor's voice meant she was very close to tears. Professor Jardin drew a deep, quivering breath, then began to cough. She turned away from Snape and Hermione saw, with pity stirring inside her, that the Professor's face was bright red from both coughing and trying to keep from crying. A few tears had escaped despite her efforts, dripping down her face and running off the narrow line of her jaw. 

Snape remained where he stood, almost as if he had been glued to the spot, a dazed look on his face. He had made no move, said nothing to defend himself, only stood there and stared. Once or twice his lips moved, but that was all. 

Professor Jardin's words were now punctuated with fits of coughing. "Maybe I should just leave, but I know the Headmaster won't let me. I almost think being hounded by Death Eaters is preferable to your abuse, Snape. Your Slytherins have been bothering me, you've been bothering me, and I swear I'll make you pay. Nothing's ready now and it's all your fault..." She broke off into a coughing fit so violent she had to lean against the wall for support. 

Hermione put an arm around the Professor's tremulous shoulders, tried to make her sit down. Her coughs had an awful hacking sound. "Professor Jardin, please try and relax." 

Footsteps coupled with the rustle of robes came towards them and Hermione looked up, trying to make her expression as defensive and serious as possible. If Snape was going to give them trouble... 

"Remove your hands, Miss Granger," Snape said, stopping right in front of them. He reached out and gripped the top of the Professor's shoulders in an effort to support her as she continued coughing. 

Hermione reluctantly let go and watched Snape yank an empty desk away from the wall and force Professor Jardin down into it. The young woman made a weak effort to push him away, but he ignored it and crouched at her side. "Thaning, what are you waiting for?" he snapped at a Slytherin close to them. "Go get a glass of water. _ Quickly!" _

Snape fumbled around in the wide sleeves of his robe, and pressed something small and grey into the hand Professor Jardin wasn't coughing into, then bent close, his nose nearly touching her face. "You're much too ill to be down here carrying on like that," he said in low tones, but there was an emotion underlacing his words that Snape was generally thought to be incapable of. 

Hermione's eyes nearly popped. Snape? Concerned? Why? _ He sure as hell didn't waste any pity on me after he made that awful crack about my teeth last year. _

Professor Jardin seemed to notice it too and gave Snape a strange look, her eyes wary. The grey thing proved to be a handkerchief and she was using it to cover her mouth as her harsh coughing went on. Snape remained kneeling by her side and watched her, his hawk-like face intent. 

The Slytherin boy returned with the water and Snape snatched it from him, not even glancing at the boy who sank back down at his desk, his confused face mirroring every other Slytherin in the room. Hermione could see the single look passed from one pair of eyes to the next; could almost hear the wheels grinding away in their heads, all sharing the same thought: _ Why is he acting so concerned? _

Snape waited quietly until her coughing abated enough for her to drink, then pressed the glass of water into her hand. Professor Jardin took it, drank a long draught, then handed the glass back to him and stared. 

"Do you think you can stand now?" Snape asked the professor softly, barely moving his lips, as if he were trying to shut out every other person in the room. He rose to his feet, still hovering over her and waited for her answer. 

She looked up at him, her face unreadable and slowly nodded. 

"Good," Snape said and slipped a long hand under her elbow, helping her to rise. Once she was on her feet, he stepped back, his face twitching slightly but his black eyes looked as cold as ever. "Professor Jardin and I are going to go outside and have a little talk." He sent a final, burning look around the class, making sure to include Hermione in his glare. "Anyone who eavesdrops...dies." 

Snape led her out into the hallway, his hand firmly under her elbow and shut the door behind them once she stepped over the threshold. Lilika supposed she should have protested over him leading her about like a cow on a rope, but since she could barely stand at the moment it seemed better to just let him support her. 

"I think you've managed to set yourself back another few days," Snape said softly, his black eyes hooded in the shadows of the hall. 

She pulled away from him and walked a few unsteady steps forward, rubbing her elbow with a deliberate and contemptuous motion. The floor seemed to be swaying under her feet. "Shut up. I don't want to see you, hear you or register your presence with any other senses. There aren't enough words on this Earth...no, in this universe to convey how much hatred I feel towards you." 

He held up a hand and sighed deeply and a little dramatically as if all the weight of the world were on his shoulders. "There you go again, being overwrought. At least hear me out; then you can upbraid me all you like. Grant me that much." 

Lilika snorted and turned her back on him; started to count the stones in the wall as a method of keeping her temper. He stepped in front of her; she tried to turn away again. She fled and he followed until Snape successfully backed her into one of the statuary niches lining the hall; no way to look except straight ahead. "So like a serpent you are, Snape; slippery, cunning, cold and hideous! Do you think I really want to listen a man who doesn't keep his word? Give me one compelling reason I should be standing here with you." 

His eyes gleamed in the dim light and his smile bared just the tips of his teeth. "Well, to be scrupulously accurate, I didn't break my word. I said I would come to you if there were any problems. There weren't any, as far as I was concerned." 

"Of course that's how you would see it," Lilika breathed bitterly and a hot, shining rush of fury swept through her body, dazzling her eyes and making her feel savage. She very much wanted to spring on him and tear his throat out; she settled instead for trying to punch him. "You filthy waste of life! Disgusting bastard!" 

He caught her hand easily and held it down at her side; looked down at her. His face was rigid. "Control yourself. I have no wish for you to make yourself even more ill." His expression turned dark, his mouth twisting. "You said my Slytherins have been bothering you? How? Why?" 

Lilika tried pulling her wrist away; when that didn't work she turned her nails into the side of his hand. He let go with a yowl. "Because they've managed to finally get it through their curse-addled brains that you and I don't like each other. Therefore, they try to make my life miserable each time I have them in class. Terribly sweet of them to stick behind you like that. What inspires such devotion?" 

"That will stop," Snape murmured, a quick flicker of some dark emotion passing over his face. He ignored the rest of her words and clutched at his injured hand, massaging it. When he spoke again, it was in a tone entirely different from any she had ever heard him use before; soft and rather tentative. 

"Did you really mean it when you said you might leave?" 

"No, I say everything I do because I simply adore the sound of my own voice. Yes. I did. Not that you care." 

He turned his face so it was hidden in shadow and folded his arms across his chest, his thin fingers moving restlessly. "If you left I would have to follow you." 

Her jaw dropped so low it was a wonder it didn't fall off. "WHAT?" 

Snape moved out of the shadows and smiled in a way that told her that was exactly the reaction he expected and wanted. "Despite what you think of me, I do keep my promises. I made a promise to the Headmaster to protect you and that is what I intend to do, even if I have to follow you into the Muggle world and beyond." 

"You can't," she whispered, trying to keep her voice steady, "you cannot possibly mean that. I don't believe you." 

He shrugged, his eyes on her face. 

She stared at her feet, at her skirts, at anything but him. "You would give up everything for a promise. Your job, Hogwarts, everything?" 

"Yes." 

Lilika stared at his chest, then dropped her gaze and studied her hands instead. They looked exactly the same as always. "How can you stand here with a straight face and talk to me like that? You know perfectly well you would do no such thing. Especially for someone you hate. No one would. People are not that good. Liar." Her voice quavered on the last words and she felt perfectly disgusted with herself for allowing that quaver in. 

"I am becoming quite tired of being told I am a liar," Snape said in a soft and dangerous whisper. His cold, thin fingers cupped her chin and tilted her face up, making her look right into his eyes. She could see herself there, reflected endlessly on the flat black surface. "I do not lie; I do not permit myself to lie. It's far more difficult and interesting to tell the truth one way and let people think another. You believe whatever pleases you. But should you ever take one step off Hogwarts grounds, you will see how quickly I am behind you." 

She could do nothing more then give a few paltry shakes of her head; her tongue faltered for the first time in her life. _ What do you say when your worst enemy makes a declaration like that? How can he hate me and yet follow me anywhere? _ Her legs felt suddenly weak. _ What kind of person is Snape? _

"Now that I have your attention," Snape said calmly, "let's discuss things, shall we?" He released her chin and stepped back; a weak shaft of light illuminated his bony face and sallow skin, picked out a few silver strands in his black hair. "I would like to say that I did not deliberately try to ruin your classes and ignore your wishes. I forgot myself; I acted as if your classes were no different then my Potions lessons and treated the students accordingly. However, that is not the way you wanted things done, and I did not realise that fact until you showed up in a high temper at the door of the classroom." She tried to speak, having found some words for him, but he waved his hand, wanting her silence. "Please let me finish." 

Snape looked away; bit his lip. 

"This part, I admit is not easy for me to say and you should be very grateful as you are one of the few people who will ever hear me speak these words. Pay attention with every inch of your being; burn these words into your brain as you will most likely never hear them again. Ready?" Lilika nodded, tongue shocked into stillness once more. _ This day has gone beyond strange into mental. _

Snape looked around, his eyes darting quickly, then peered at the door to make sure not a single organism capable of hearing was present. 

"I'm sorry. I apologise for every way I've wronged you. You are right and I was wrong," Snape said carefully, grimacing at each word. "Forgive me." 

"I accept your apology," Lilika said quietly, after a deafening silence of several minutes had gone past. _ I accept your apology but I will not forgive you. _

His dark eyes widened slightly at her words and she thought there was almost a gleam of pleasure within them. That pleasure prickled her, made her uneasy and agitated. _ He's a vicious bastard; why should I want him as anything but my enemy? He's already hurt me enough. _ "However," she said with slow emphasis, "however you still must atone for the work my classes missed and for not following my directions." 

The light in his eyes had vanished, to be replaced by Snape's more familiar scowl. "Of course. But how? Tomorrow is Friday and if you are well enough to resume your teaching duties once the weekend is over..." 

She had a wonderful answer, but it wasn't going to make him too happy. He deserved a bit of twisting on the rack anyway, deliberate actions or no. "Give Hufflepuff and Gryffindor-plus anyone else I don't know about- twenty points," she said and smiled sweetly. 

He sucked in his breath as if someone had punched him in the stomach. "Twenty points?" 

"Twenty points, unless you want me to make your life a living hell," she said in her most solemn voice. "May I remind you that the Headmaster would not be pleased with your behavior?" 

Snape's coal black eyes had gone hard again. "My lady, you are a monster," he said flatly. 

"I try," Lilika said nonchalantly, rocking back and forth on her feet in the small space. "I try." 

He glared at her, his mouth twisting into a sneer. "Any other requests? Blood perhaps?" He turned away from the niche, his face twitching in anger and strode back to the classroom door, finally releasing her. "If not, then I believe our interview is ended. Good day." 

She couldn't let him go yet. "Wait!" 

Snape paused, one hand on the door knob and stared at her, his eyes glittering. "What now?" 

"Here." Lilika reached into her sleeve and found her handkerchief after a little rummaging. "Take it," she told him, pushing it in the direction of his hand. 

He looked from the handkerchief to her and back again. "Would you be so kind as to tell me _ why?" _

"Because I got your handkerchief all filthy," she replied. "Take mine as a replacement." 

Snape stepped away from the door and narrowed his eyes at her. "Again, why should I take yours?" 

"Just take it!" she snapped, shoving the little linen square at him. "I happen to have a code of conduct that states if someone gives you something, you are obligated to give them something in return. I owe you a handkerchief now. So oblige me." 

"But it's got _ lace," _ he muttered, looking at the innocent handkerchief with something akin to horror. 

"Take it! Please!" 

"Oh all right, if it means that much to you," he murmured and plucked it out of her fingers. A small, curious smile drifted across his mouth as he unfolded it, but it vanished before Lilika could determine what it meant. 

"Peculiar code of honour you have there, Lady Woodville," he said silkily, placing the handkerchief somewhere in his sleeve. "I find it very interesting." 

"Glad you like it," she muttered, put off by the look that had just crossed his face. "I'll go back to my room now." 

"Yes, do," Snape said, his face now closed. His hand was back on the door knob and he gave it a twist, then stopped and looked at her once more. "Do you require help?" he asked, his expression shifting subtly into a contemplative one. 

Her stomach felt odd, almost queasy. Time to leave. 

"No, I'll be fine. Oh, and Snape-write an excuse note for Hermione Granger. She must have missed classes by now," she called as she left, not looking at him and instead concentrating very hard on putting one foot in front of the other. 

Behind her Snape muttered a curse; she could hear that and the rush of voices from curious students all demanding to know what had been going on as he opened the door. Snape shouted at them, straining his voice to be heard above all the others. Lilika smiled to herself, running a hand over the worn, smooth stones of the walls for balance. 

The door shut with a bang and the corridor was mute once more, save for the light shuffle of her feet and the scrape of her fingernails against stone. 

Translation of the lyrics used in the story: 

_Je se voudrais...si je le pouvais_: I would like it if I could.. 

_Yoake ni kirameku...hikari no naifu de  
anata no...yume no naka...nozoite mitai..._: A knife of light glitters in the dawn within  
your dream despite what you wish to see. 

_itooshi...sono mune no_: Beloved...that breast... 

_chiisaku furueru_: Cringing, shivering

_Anata no yume no iro_: The colour of your dream. 

The song is "Rose Rouge" from the OVA series _Shamanic Princess. _


	9. A Dream, Dream, No Dream

** Part 8 : A Dream, Dream, No Dream **

_ -A dream, dream, no dream   
Voices of the night-if you should cross over the forest-   
A dream, dream, no dream   
Goodnight, my good child.- _   
**key the metal idol "lullaby" **

_ She is kneeling at the back of the church, conspicuous in her bright red cloak. Her hands are clasped tightly, the nails leaving bloody crescents on the pale skin of her hands. Two new candles have been lit; one for her father, the other for her sister. The melting wax flows down them and leaves fat droplets on the white alter cloth. There is no candle for her mother, furiously wasting away in Azkaban and Charles will have plenty of his own fire in Hell. _

Her lips move silently through a prayer for mercy, then a prayer for the repose of restless souls. She asks for nothing for herself. 

There is movement at the front of the church and two men enter, faceless in long dark cloaks. They walk rapidly towards the kneeling girl and their feet are silent on the stone because they are very good at what they do. 

She still doesn't know what made her turn around and look. 

"Thanks for being so convenient, yer Ladyship," one says in a coarse, sniggering voice. He raises his wand. "Now, just hold still..." 

"Oi! Little Red Riding Hood! Slow down and wait for us!" one of the men calls, his voice strong with mockery, despite the wheezing breaths she can him take. His companion jogs alongside him grimly. 

The girl leads them into the forest that borders the town, jumping fallen trees and ruts in the ground. Her brand new wand is still hidden in her sleeve and she has neither the time to yank it out or enough skill with it to save her life. She runs on, heels sliding backwards into the soft earth with every step. 

"Bloody fuck she's fast! Like a goddamn rabbit! Bitch! Be good and stop and I might be easy on you! Not quick but easy!" the loud one calls again, and she is glad he has decided to waste his energy on boasting. It will slow him down in the long run. 

"She chose a bad path," the quiet one says flatly. He speaks little and his footsteps are gaining. 

The girl reaches for her neck and tears at the bright red cloth of her cloak. It rips, and falls slack on her shoulders. The girl flings it away into the underbrush beyond. In her dark dress, she will be that much harder to spot. A large tree has fallen into her path; she puts a hand on it and vaults over, too frightened to be short of breath. The rough bark slices her skin and blood pools in her palm. 

"Why'd you say that?" pants the loud one to his companion. His steps are stumbling and uneven. 

"Lake Salamander is ahead and she's running straight into it." 

The heavy one throws back his head and laughs despite his gasping breaths for air. Lake Salamander is a large pool fed by two rapid streams, deep and full of fast-running currents. 

There is light ahead and the girl pulls forward grimly, one arm pressed to her side. She finds enough energy for an extra burst of speed, charges ahead and skids to a stop, pebbles flinging themselves before her. She stares at the black water as the pebbles disappear with small plopping sounds. 

The men walk into the clearing, calmly, slowly. She watches them and steps backward, too scared to be proud. 

"Too much trouble," the heavy one says, shaking his head in a slow parody of sorrow. "I should get a bonus for this." He lifts his wand, points it straight at her heart. "Avada..." 

_ Before he can finish, the ground beneath the girl's feet slides, disintegrates into a shower of rock, and with a shriek she tumbles into the water below. There is a large splash and then the water ripples, becomes quiet once more. _

The men study the water silently. Five, ten, then fifteen minutes pass with no sign of any movement through the water below. The quiet one walks over, checks the tributary rivers to see if she had come out that way. She has not. 

"I'd say she's pretty well dead by now," the heavy man says dryly after twenty minutes have passed, scratching an armpit. His companion nods in agreement. 

"There's snakeweed at this bottom of this lake." He nudges a few more pebbles into the water. "It wraps itself around anything unlucky enough to get in it's way, holds it down. You do realise though, that we're going to have to salvage her body for proof." 

"Bugger that," the heavy one says and spits into the lake. 

Lilika woke then, heart beating a frantic tattoo between her ribs. She lay staring into the darkness for several seconds, one hand resting on her breasts, as she breathed harshly into the silence of her room. A short debate about what to do went through her mind; options were weighed, analysed and discarded while she lay unmoving, her chest weighted as though something crouched on top of it. 

One by one, each option was discarded until Lilika was left with the only solution she knew she could handle under the circumstances. Acknowledging this (she was nothing if not sensible) she calmly grabbed her pillow, regarded it for a moment with a critical eye, then pressed it firmly over her face and began screaming. 

It went on for quite a long while. 

Once done, she removed the pillow and flipped over on her stomach, burying her face in her arms, ears pricked for any sort of sign that the Grey Lady or the rest of Ravenclaw had heard her cries. There was a soft, faint creak from outside and she froze, holding her breath until she was certain no one was coming to challenge her or worse, be concerned. 

"These nightmares are getting clearer and clearer and worse and worse," she whispered into her pillow; it was sweaty now and sticky from her screams. The muffled edge of her voice still sounded very loud and conspicuous despite the protective padding of her arms and bedding. "I really don't want to do this...but I can't take this much longer." Lilika sighed through pursed lips and rolled onto her back once more; traced the cracks of the ceilings with her eyes. 

"I'll go see him tomorrow." 

The Slytherins slept heavily and for the most part peacefully within the thick grey walls of their dungeons. Professor Snape had finally gone to sleep after a night of grading Potions essays; turning in the middle of his restless dreams, he called out a name. Two seventh years slipped back into their bedrooms after an assignation, tiptoeing and giggling with relief that they had managed to avoid the Bloody Baron who was busily stalking the corridors, his lank robes dragging behind him, in his nightly pursuit of wayward students. In the common room, the fireplace sputtered once and went out. The dungeons had slipped completely into darkness. 

Everything was as it should be. Everyone quiet, everything serene, all in bed. 

Except two. 

Down at the end of the longest, darkest corridor, two slender figures crouched, faintly outlined in the darkness by the same pale light given off by ghosts and hags. One held a glass bottle in a pale, clenched fist whilst the other smiled and stroked the shiny surface of the glass with a loving finger, eyes intent on the creature trapped inside. His touch left a milky swirl on the clean surface. 

"Alright," he said, straightening out of his crouch. "Let it out." 

His companion hesitated, and with a smirk the figure reached out as if to snatch the bottle away from the other. The boy holding the bottle half-turned, clutching it protectively to his chest. "Don't!" 

"Just what are you afraid of?" the first boy sneered, tugging on the other's arm. "It's only a baby-it can't do any _ serious _ damage until it's eaten enough energy to grow-which it won't if you're too much of a coward to let it out." His tone became coaxing and his hand relaxed on the second boy's arm, stroking it affectionately. "We'll tell it to just go after the Mudbloods and Muggle-lovers first, how's that?" 

The other boy looked uncertain, but his grip loosened, enough of an opening that his companion was able to pry the bottle away from him and pull out the stopper. He nearly cut his finger on one of the deeply carved runes that decorated the grey metal but the boy scarcely noticed. His eyes were focused elsewhere. 

A thick mist swirled lazily from the bottle's mouth, so dark in colour it would have been indistinguishable from the blackness of the hall save for the flickering blue light that limmed its edges. The light was faint but enough to illuminate more clearly the narrow, uneasy face of the hesitant boy and the wide and sinister grin resting on the thin-lipped mouth of the other. 

The first boy stood calmly and watched the mist stir first one way and then other as if it were undecided about which direction it wanted to go first. 

"Now listen here," the boy said to the mist while his partner looked on, every line of his face terse. "Go off and feed-but you are _ not _ to touch Potter or the girl. Too much attention on them and we don't need the Old Fool and his lackeys catching on that there's something afoot. You can sup from Potter's friends, but lightly...again, we don't want too much attention. We have your bottle,"-here he picked it up and gave it a wave-"and if you set one tendril out of line you're going straight back in, screaming all the while. Understand?" 

The shuddering eldritch light dimmed slightly, which might have been an answer, and the mist began a fast flow away from the first boy. 

"How much does a Night Hag understand anyway?" the first boy said shrugging to his partner as the mist began draining through the nearest wall, with a kind of purposeful ooze. Within a few seconds and with one last sucking sound it had vanished completely. 

"Well, that's over with," the boy said nonchalantly, brushing back a lock of fine hair that had fallen into his eyes. "Come along." 

The second boy rose to his feet, looking shaken and very wobbly in the legs. "I don't think..." he began, lifting his chin in an attempt to seem confident. 

The other grabbed his arm so hard that he winced. "We are doing this for the glory of our Lord," the first boy hissed in his companion's face, fingers curving into the hard skin of the other's arm, leaving sharp white dents behind. "You can not falter." He stepped back, looked appraisingly at the other's face. "Alright?" 

"For the glory of the Lord," the second boy whispered after a short silence. He was proud of his control; his voice was unwavering as he spoke and his chin went higher, making him look almost defiant. "I understand." 

His partner looked pleased. 

"Then get off to bed with you and be careful," he ordered over his shoulder as he strode off down the corridor. "We'll meet again." 

The second boy waited until he was sure the other was gone, then began to walk slowly himself, one hand on the slippery stones of the wall for balance. His legs were unsteady. 

_ "Our _ Lord?" he whispered, each word supported by slow-burning anger. 

Snape propped his chin on his hand and watched his cauldrons through half-shut eyes. More sleeping potion for Madam Pomfrey, more salves for whiney, fearful children, more things _ he did not have time for! _ He swallowed a yawn and cast a quick glance at his office door out of habit; shut fast, exactly as it should be. 

This was one of the few downsides to being Potions Master at Hogwarts-being forced to brew the most mundane, commonplace potions in existence for other people who should have well been able to take care of it themselves. He grimaced, feeling another yawn press behind his lips, then stirred the nearest cauldron with a glass rod and checked its colour. 

Second years on up had been taught to make mild Sleeping Potions and calming draughts but most were fools and the rest were lazy, so once more he was forced to take up others' slack. It certainly wasn't his fault there seemed to be a number of sleepless students mooning listlessly around the corridors; it was exam time. Obvious. And yet Madam Pomfrey, hollow-eyed and tense, had the nerve to _ lecture _ him-actually lecture him as if he was still a stoop-shouldered third year under her care after he'd calmly pointed out he'd had far more important things to do than cater to the needs of some silly, overworked students. He winced at the recollection; stirred one cauldron a little harder. If Madam Pomfrey had screamed at him and hit him over the head with one of his ladles it would have still been better then her _ lecturing _ him. 

The potions all bubbled to a finish at once, right on schedule to the last second; he extinguished the fires underneath each cauldron with a casual flick of his wand, then began bottling them. As he finished, he set each aside so Madam Pomfrey could collect them later and a neat little pile soon grew at the end of his worktable. No doubt the woman would back within the space of a few days, demanding more. 

Once this thrillingly banal task was completed Snape dropped back into his chair, fighting back another yawn. Deplorable, utterly deplorable. He should have better control then this; he had always slept poorly and his body was well used to it by now. Yet this weariness had somehow crept in, despite his usual defences; he tossed and turned at night in sweat-soaked sheets and woke exhausted and grumbling in the morning. His eyes strayed to a locked cabinet set high on the far wall on his office. 

Last night, during a particularly difficult sleep patch he had almost- _ almost _ been tempted to unlock the cabinet, take down the small, innocuous blue bottle that lay within and drink. Drink all of it and slip pleasantly into oblivion. A small shudder rippled through his body at the recollection, causing his fingers to tighten almost painfully on the armrests of his chair. Still, he told himself sternly, no point in living in what-might-have-been (and it was a damned good thing he wasn't prone to that, otherwise he'd have gone mad several times over by now); he had resisted and that was the important thing. He was even able to take a small bit of pride from his ability to resist the demands of his body despite the stress he was under; addiction was a difficult thing to break and this substance was notoriously habit-forming. 

How many years had it been since he had last taken it? Four? Five? He might have slipped during Potter's first year; giving him yet another carefully hoarded and picked over reason to resent the boy, who had the infuriating distinction of being one of the few people walking around on this planet who could make him lose his control. Snape bit his lip in anger; felt the blood well under his teeth. Potter. 

Potter and...no, he wasn't going to start _ that _ again. 

A small smile twitched over his lips. 

Potter was the least of his worries now; wasn't that ironic? He had always been fond of irony, always had an eye for the sour joke in things. Why should he be bothered by Potter's petty rebellions when the Dark Lord walked once more in ominous silence and his dreams were no longer of blood and shadows but of white skin and black hair? 

_ The two men leave, one grumbling with each step. The moon comes out from behind a cloud; its light gilds the water with silver and for a brief moment the lake is no longer flat and black but transparent and glittering, beautiful in a way it can never be in the daylight. _

Some nightbirds call softly from the trees whilst the water slops against the banks of the lake. Clouds cover the moon and the darkness shields everything once more. 

The water churns suddenly, near the far bank and the girl's head pops up, sending water flying in an jagged arc as she gasps for air. 

She paddles clumsily towards the bank; puts up an unsteady hand and manages to pull herself out of the water. Snakeweed clings to her skin and dress in long ragged black strings; there are reddish patches on her face and neck where the plant has burned her skin. 

The girl curls on her side and vomits water for several minutes, then flops down on her back, still gagging. Her wand is clutched tight in her fist; it has saved her life and she has never been so proud of herself before. 

"God damn all Death Eaters past, present and future to eternal hell," she mutters finally, her voice twisting with the wind. "Me a Death Eater. Idiots. If I'd had inclinations in that direction, the world would have been ash long ago." 

She coughs painfully and gets up, slowly, her legs shaking. Her drenched dress is plastered against her skinny body, water dripping down to puddle at her feet. She is shaking with anger made brighter by fear and her feet feel like they are tumbling away from her. She hadn't thought it would be so frightening to fall off that cliff, or feel the ground crumble apart, pebbles rolling under her feet. The girl gags; remembers hitting the lake hard on her back, choking on that dark water, and all at once she screams, trying to chase the panic out of her chest before she goes mad. 

A tree at the edge of the forest explodes, brilliant, wavering flames dancing up along the branches. Hot ash wafts towards her, dotting her face and dress as she stares. 

"Oh cool," she finally says, her voice strained and a little too light. "Never had that _ happen before." _

After a moment spent quietly watching, she turns away and staggers off into the forest beyond, muttering angrily all the while. 

Snape let out a short, harsh laugh, then stood up and began pacing the room, folding his arms across his narrow body for warmth. Funny, the chill had never bothered him before. It must be his lack of sleep causing this sensitivity to cold and since sleeplessness was the cause of his weakness and she was the cause of his lack of rest, therefore the matter could be neatly summed up into three simple words: all her fault. 

He rubbed his arm with a fitful hand; the Dark Mark was tingling through his sleeve in a reaction to his agitation. The same way it burned whenever he lost his temper or she got too close; a faithful mirror of his feelings. 

"Unecessary aggravation," he whispered, "and dangerous besides." He walked on, a small cloud of dust billowing at each step. 

The uneasy truce they had made towards the end of her illness had splintered away, most likely because neither of them truly wished to be kind to the other, he mused. Fine with him. Oh, he found himself curbing his more cutting remarks and she taunted less but smirked more, but that was all. She was still recovering, still weak and unsteady and he could afford the indulgence of treating her a little more gently until she was truly well. He smiled, tapping his chin thoughtfully. 

Oh yes. Hatred still ran comfortably between them and he enjoyed the delicious, helpless rage that filled her eyes whenever he offered to help her around-after all, she was still so very weak. Miss Woodville, for all her other faults, was perceptive enough to notice that he was holding back in deference to her condition, tolerating her lesser barbs with a small smile and an air of infinite patience and it _ drove her absolutely mad. _ He chuckled, feeling quite satisfied. Silly little girl. 

And yet this silly, empty headed creature had the nerve to appear in his dreams with her black hair curling about her bare shoulders... 

Snape pinched himself, disgusted. If there were any sort of bright side to his current predicament, his new way of dreaming insured that he would never do anything more than want to throttle her, the frivolous baggage, since he was not going to form any sort of attachment based off cloudy images and sublimated stress. He shuddered and ran a hair through his hair, wincing when a finger snagged in one of the tangles. Thank God for that. 

He found himself tracing the scar she had given him as he sat there, thinking; it was a small line, as narrow as if it had been drawn with a pin. She might have refrained from taunting him lately, but she had developed an exceedingly annoying habit of letting him follow her without comment, then looking over her shoulder every few steps with a small smile, as if reassuring herself that he was still behind her. 

He spat on the ground and then rubbed it away with his foot, remembering the nonchalant way she'd greeted him earlier-"Oh, _ there _ you are," she'd exclaimed in a tone of fake surprise, as if he were a wayward piece of luggage she hadn't expected to see again. Then she'd turned and sauntered down the hall with a smirk on her face, skirts swaying... 

Pain shot up his arms and Snape looked down, yanked out of his reverie; his fingers had dug into the skin of his arms so deeply the knuckles turned white against his sallow skin. He stamped over to his desk, nearly barking his shin on the desk's leg and withdrew a flask from a lower drawer, staring at the pale green liquid as it made slow spirals against the glass. 

_ Disgusting. Completely disgusting. _

He raised the flask to his lips, drained the contents and hurled the empty flask aside, the glass breaking into a glittering rain of fragments on the floor below. 

"I am not going to lose myself over a scatterbrained slip of a girl with nothing to recommend her other then she happens to be near me in age!" he hissed as he felt the potion begin to work. It felt like ice sliding up his arm, cool fingers taking away the pain and he took a deep, shuddering breath, then relaxed. He pulled his chair out and dropped into it once more, leaning his chin on his hand. 

"She's a weedy thing. Too skinny even though she devours everything in sight, no breasts to speak of, as hipless as a snake. A poor excuse for a female," he mumbled into his palm. "A spoiled, petulant little princess not even worth the time and effort it would take to break her, since she seems to be immune to all the usual tactics." 

_ But sometimes that makes it more fun. After all, you're the one saying she should be down on her hands and knees thanking you... _ a small voice whispered slyly. 

"ENOUGH!" he screamed, slamming a hand down on his desk, setting his quills and parchment to vibrating. His hand throbbed terribly and he was glad of it. "I_will_not..." 

A soft rumble rippled through the air and he looked up to see one of his wooden cases wobbling dangerously, the flasks rocking back and forth on the shelves within, fluids sloshing. He jumped up, almost glad to have a distraction, even one of this sort. 

Snape hurried over to the case, making it there just in time to catch a flask that had tumbled off the highest shelf. He cursed a half-dozen times under his breath, shifting the flask into the crook of his arm and the rumble sounded again. The wall had developed a definite crack... He narrowed his eyes and peered into the shadows of the crack, bracing himself against whatever might be lurking within. Nothing to see but a thin, dark line in the wall...a line that slowly expanded into a gap, revealing a pair of brilliant blue eyes that blinked twice. 

_ "You!" _

"Oh, so this is where that passage goes," she said brightly. Her small fingers curved around the edge of the wall and pushed outward; the gap widened as the shelf nearly toppled. 

He slammed his shoulder against the wall and pushed it back, nearly catching those small fingers in between. Fortunately the girl had quick reflexes and managed to jerk her hand back in time. The fingers disappeared, followed by a squeal of outrage. 

"Why you--" 

"Hold your tongue, idiot girl," he whispered to the crack, rage beating fast through him. "The loss of your too-curious fingers would have been a small price to pay for your careless destruction of years of work!" 

She quieted and he could hear the rustle of fabric from within the wall. "I didn't know this passage would end up here," she finally said, her voice muffled. An eye appeared in the crack again and stared at him. 

"Why are you here?" he hissed between his teeth as he reset his flasks in their proper places. "Trying to make your swath of destruction even wider?" 

She ignored the bait. Damn. "I want to talk to you." 

"Then come into my office through the door like a normal person, or at least as close to a normal person as you can manage," he snapped. "I sometimes think that if I shone a light into one of your ears it would come straight out the other." 

"Oooh, how terribly original," she sneered, her voice sharpening just a hair. The eye vanished and more rustling could be heard. "I'll be in directly." 

Snape had just finished setting everything back in place when footsteps sounded from the hall and she wandered in through his door, not bothering to knock. He stood for a moment and regarded her, his arms folded and his most savage grimace in place. She appeared completely unfazed and walked over to his desk, not meeting his eyes, her skirts brushing lightly against the stone floor as she went. His frown deepened as he studied her, noting the slightly unsteady way she moved, hands away from her body and her fingers spread stiffly. 

For once she wasn't wearing black; this dress was a silvery blue-grey with some sort of gauzy overlay (which explained the rustling, although that could also be due to the five million petticoats she seemed to enjoy wearing) and it was laced up the front with dark red ribbon. Her hair had been twisted up in a bun and speared into place by two long hairsticks topped by small pearls and finished by sharp points that looked suitable for gouging out eyes. He felt his lip twitch. McGonagall's robes were severe High Victorian, Sprout's looked much-mended and Vector chose robes strictly for comfort and not aesthetics, but Miss Woodville seemed to favour the Regency period or something like it, which meant lots of deep square necklines filled in with some sort of transparent scarf. How silly to think that a transparent little square of fabric lighter then breath could really conceal any cleavage. Not that she had much. But the tight bodices and deep necklines certainly made one start thinking of cleavage...But she didn't have any. Just..bumps. Rather firm bumps too, from the look of it... 

He took several deep, sharp breaths, feeling his stomach contract, and asked in a surprisingly calm voice: "Why are you here?" 

She ignored him for a few seconds, then turned her head a little in his direction and spoke. "May I sit down?" she asked politely, her eyes fixed not on him, but on some other point in the room. 

He waved a hand at her, not bothering to answer, and crossed over to where she had been standing, taking care to maintain an adequate distance as he did. She was polite at least, he would own up to that.   
Instead of taking a seat at one of the chairs lined up in front of his desk, she calmly walked over and settled herself in his chair, tucking one foot neatly behind the other. 

Egotistical wench. "Get out of my chair before you sully it." 

The girl rolled her eyes so far back the whites could be seen and the corner of her mouth lifted in annoyance. "I'll wipe it down with alcohol before I leave, alright?" she said, but her tone seemed more distant then angry. Most curious. Normally she would be leaping for his throat at this point. 

Now that she'd usurped his chair he lacked a place to sit, so he contented himself with standing and fixing his most ferocious glare on her pale face. She wasn't even looking at him, but playing with a fold of her skirt. Snape let out a small, inconspicuous sigh. If he was going to waste energy glaring at her she could at least _ notice. _

"My seal," she finally said, eyes on the floor. "You didn't undo it completely, you realise." 

He snorted; tapped one foot impatiently. "Is that all? Are you that concerned about it? I have yet to see a significant change in your lifestyle because of my work, although I suspect the reason you eat like a small hippopotamus and yet never gain weight is because all that energy went into maintaining your seal." He pinched her skinny wrist for emphasis, though not hard, and she let out a squawk. "Who knows? You might actually start looking like a girl now instead of a clothes-pole." 

She snatched her wrist away and he moved back with a smirk. "Hah! You accuse me of being too skinny?" 

What was her problem? They could be having a fine row by now, eyes flashing threats and insults flying thick and fast between them and she was just sitting there _ limp. _   
As if she didn't care. 

"Your heart doesn't seem to be in this today," he said softly, noticing the dark blue circles rimming her reddened eyes for the first time. "Why are you here? 

"I have gotten stronger though," she went on placidly, as if she hadn't heard him. "See that book there?" 

The book in question was a large, ancient tome of herb lore flaking pieces of its binding and sitting on a shelf at the far end of the room. Miss Woodville raised her hand, snapped her fingers and the book flung itself into her palm, all within a matter of seconds. 

"Bravo," he said dryly, with a short clap of his hands, wondering what this little display was supposed to prove. "Should I get on my knees and bow before your superior power now?" 

Her lip curled in disdain-getting closer-and she actually looked annoyed. "It's a _ stupid _ trick," she snapped, voice rising into a snarl. "I'm sure you could do it easily." 

With that, she bounced up in the chair, lifted a white hand and hurled the book at his throat with more force then he would have guessed her capable of. 

He had just enough time to snap out a hand and gesture quickly, stopping the book moments before it impacted with his throat. It fell to the floor with a low boom, dust rising all around it. He licked his lips. His throat was suddenly very dry. 

"See?" she said, and closed her eyes. 

Coils of anger were unfolding inside his chest, sharp fangs biting at his heart. With a few strides he crossed over to where she sat and wrapped a hand around her little neck, fingers tensed to tighten on her pale skin. "Explain yourself to me now," he rasped, almost shaking with rage, "or I'll squeeze." 

She was so very still, hands pinching the folds of her skirts as she breathed lightly. Then as he waited, his throat full of hot, choking anger, Miss Woodville's eyes flickered open slowly and she tilted her head back as if trying to pull away. "Nightmares," she said, in calm, flat tones, not blinking once. "I've been having nightmares, horrible ones, and I want you to give me a Sleeping Potion." 

He wanted so badly to squeeze, to see her struggle against him in desperation, still her mocking tongue. The blood in her neck fluttered gently against his fingers. Such warm skin and so thin as well. She probably bruised easily. Would he leave marks? 

"You couldn't handle a Sleeping Potion on your own, pitiful creature?" She was motionless in his grasp. 

"I need something strong," she said, eyes downcast. Out of respect or disinterest? "And as much as I hate to admit it, you are supposed to be one of the best brewers around." 

"And if I don't, you'll go to the Headmaster, etc., etc.," he replied, moving his fingers from her throat to her shoulder. His anger dimmed, but the embers remained, hot and bright enough to flare up at a moment's notice. "So once more I must fulfill your whims at my own expense. Well, little one, nothing is free." 

Miss Woodville sat up straighter and almost looked alarmed, blue eyes widening. Her fingers clenched on her gown. "What's that supposed to mean?" 

Snape gave her a narrow smile. "My dear, my dear, I have a feeling that once you are finished with my services, I will be calling in quite a significant tab." He walked around her in a slow circle, ticking off things one by one on his fingers. "You already owe me for your power, the trouble and expense I went through during your illness, not to mention the problems associated with having you here in the first place, _ plus _ you deny me the pleasure of telling everyone a very good secret..." 

She slapped a hand down on the chair. "Okay, okay, enough already!" Her face had turned sullen, lips pulled into a thin, straight line. "Name your price." Had her voice wobbled ever so slightly on the last word? 

He paused in his circling and stared down at her, throughly enjoying the furious light in her eyes. Much better then her being limp. "For every potion I provide to you, I want an hour of your time." 

"Oh no," she said, shaking her head rapidly, wisps of hair brushing her face. She started to rise from the chair. "No way you per..." 

"Paranoid female," he barked, shoving her back into her seat. "Rest assured that your time will be used for things like cleaning my classroom or grading papers." He smiled nastily. "I have no use for you in other ways." 

Silence for a moment. 

"Well, that's good to know," she muttered, her face just barely tinted with red. He watched her quietly, waiting for her answer. Miss Woodville seemed to be thinking very hard, brow creased and hands working the folds of her dress. 

"Fine. Bargain made," she said after a few more moments of concentration. The girl took a long, deep breath, her small body shaking slightly with its force. "Where's the potion?" 

He nodded to acknowledge her statement and stepped over to one of the smaller cabinets that lined the side wall, picking a small silver key off the ring on his belt. The lock turned over rather easily for a cabinet that wasn't used often; perhaps Filch was actually doing his job. "Control yourself. You'll get it."   
There was a small bottle of a grey blue liquid nestled in the very far corner; a medium grade sleeping potion that should be perfectly suitable for her needs. He took it out; rolled the bottle between his palms to insure that none of the ingredients had separated out. Miss Woodville stretched out a hand and Snape gently placed the potion in her palm, stepping back afterwards to watch her reaction. She tilted her head and studied it, then pulled out the stopper and sniffed the contents; made a face, her eyebrows drawing together. "Ick." 

"I just provide." 

"Mmmm," she said absently, turning the bottle over in her grasp as if to see it better in the light. "Is this the kind with wormwood?" 

"Of course not," he snapped, an image of the blue bottle he had hidden away lurking unpleasantly behind his eyes. "It's a highly addictive substance and I certainly wouldn't give any to you." 

Miss Woodville looked up after he finished talking, one eyebrow nearly in her hairline. "You sound as if you know." Her expression was knowing and above all, smug. 

"Hold your tongue," he growled, feeling his anger burn just a little more brightly. "You got what you came for; now leave." 

The girl studied him. Her eyebrow settled back into its proper place as the smug expression slowly faded, to be replaced by a contemplative one that was almost worse. 

"Gracious as always," she murmured. Her eyes went back to the small bottle she cradled in her hands and a frown turned her mouth. Then, with a small shrug and a tight, amused smile, she lifted the bottle to her lips and drank. 

"You IDIOT!" Snape shrieked into her ear. She winced because his voice still carried very clearly through her head despite the comfortable waves of numbness that swam through her body. Her fingers and toes tingled as if they were being held against ice. "That potion works instantly! You'll be out for hours! What the hell were you thinking, _ taking it in my office?!" _

Lilika managed to turn her head away from his ravings and ended up with the side of her face squished against the hard wood of his chair. His breath was surprisingly hot on her cheek. "You have no idea," she muttered, "how tired I am..." 

His hands gripped her arms and gave her a good shake. "Arrogant little brat! I should..." 

She was very warm and very sleepy and it was very easy to ignore him. This wasn't the most comfortable place to rest but it would do. Anything to slip quietly into the dark of dreamless sleep. If Snape was going to fly off the handle because she was tired, then he was more then welcome to take her nightmares so she could get some rest. Odd man. But she didn't think he would have really squeezed. "If you do anything, I'll know." 

_ You know...I feel kind of funny...The other Sleeping Potion I took didn't feel like this... _

Her eyes shut fully, his voice vanished and she dropped into sleep. 

_ Now what? _ he thought, his mind working at a furious clip. She was completely unconscious, she would be for several hours and here she was taking up valuable office space. So much for the work he had planned to finish up today! Snape straightened and glared at her, his mouth twisting into several expression before deciding on a grimace. Here she had fallen and here she must lay: he couldn't take her back to Ravenclaw as it was broad daylight, the weekend and everyone was milling all over the place. 

"She probably planned this," he muttered, "the vicious minx. Another way to make my life miserable." 

The girl shivered; served her right for choosing to fall asleep here if she couldn't handle the temperatures. Her head lolled back and one hand had tucked itself under her cheek, trying to serve as a pillow. He gave her chair a good kick; she didn't even twitch. 

"Nightmares," he spat disdainfully. "You and your petty fears and fancies! You can't be quiet about them and deal with them like a mature human being, you have to whine to me like everyone else..." 

Miss Woodville exhaled softly, and a thin mist rose from her nostrils with the light breath. He froze, breaking off his litany. It was silvery-grey in colour and thickening quite rapidly. 

More silver rose around her, swirling and changing into a long stream that curled around her. Snape bent closer, fascinated in spite of himself, his complaints forgotten. What on earth was causing _ this? _ It looked almost like a Pensieve... 

"Your thoughts, perhaps?" he said quietly to the unconcious girl. "My my...you do have such interesting reactions to things." Like the Veritaserum, only better. He smiled. 

Snape put a hand forward, fingers poised to touch. His hand hovered just above the mist, trembling slightly and his breathing came more rapidly. 

"I think you owe me something for this trouble," he whispered to the sleeping girl, as if he feared a louder voice would awaken her. His fingers pushed closer. "And I have always wanted to know what goes on in that mind of yours..." 

The mist brushed against his finger, coiling around it gently. 

He felt a slow, sucking pull from deep inside as if his body was trying to collapse in on itself. His toes went numb and icy; a few moments more and the cold had spread through his body, winding its way to his heart, freezing his insides into a cold, painful burn. 

He was pitching forward but there was no place to fall. Panic sliced into him. _ This doesn't feel right... _

Then all at once he was inside. 

Snape landed very hard on his back, dust and pebbles filling the air around him as he lay stunned. Above him stretched a forest, bare branches jabbing crookedly at the sky; underneath him were dead leaves and mud and before him was a castle. He got slowly to his feet, wincing as his left knee throbbed and walked a few steps forward, hands outstretched for balance. He felt very wobbly, almost like he'd been spun around too fast and then yanked to a stop. 

The castle looked very much like every other castle dotting the country; crumbling walls of greyish, mossy stone, flags flying from the highest tower and people milling everywhere, servants in blue and gold livery on the run. Running rather fast, in fact... 

A group of about twenty people, all shapeless in dark cloaks, were gathered in a tight ring a little off to his left. Muffled conversation occasionally broken by laughter filled the air and Snape's heart quietly went cold. 

His eyes darted from to the pennant snapping sharply in the wind from the highest tower- _ a stag and golden bars _ -to the group talking quietly before him- _ two were standing a little apart from the others, the taller one inclining his head almost respectfully to the shorter, who was the only one with his hood down, his silvery hair glittering in the sun... _

This was Castle Rising, home of the Woodville family. The people were Death Eaters-yes he did remember this-and the two men standing slightly away from the others? Lucius Malfoy and himself, all of twenty and looking so smugly pleased with himself. So filled with the pride of being in the inner circle for the first time, invited to the home of one of the most important men in the organization, Lord Andrew Woodville. 

So very, very stupid. 

After his first shock, Snape walked around in a daze, staring into the black spaces underneath each hood. Memories.. 

No notice was taken of him as the people chattered on, oblivious, and his feet made no sound on the stones of the courtyard. A shiver went through him like lightning. Perhaps he was a ghost, or else they were the spirits. The scenery _ did _ seem a bit transparent. Either way it was almost...frightening. 

He looked hard into each face as he passed, still a little stunned and wary. Here stood Mickles, Rosier, Avery. He aimed a kick at Avery's ankles as he passed, but missed and nearly fell. They had always stuck together, the three of them. 

Rufus and Anida Lestrange, husband and wife. Husband a little too interested in his sister, wife a little too clinging. Mrs. Lestrange stood staring at her husband. It had been rumoured that he had only married her because of the resemblance, and later on, Anida would begin to reflect her sister-in-law not only in looks, but in personality. Rufus' attention was not on his wife, but somewhere else, most likely in the same room as his absent sister. Who just happened to be the former Iolanthe Lestrange and was now, by virtue of a fortunate marriage, the Lady Iolanthe Woodville, the mother of Charles, Maida and Liliana. 

Maida Woodville, staring at nothing, her blue eyes as cold and empty as the moon. He paused and looked into her blank, beautiful face. Miss Woodville really did look like a smaller, more blurred version of her older sister. A smaller, more lively version. He had never known Maida to smile or laugh or even speak unless her mother was around. He could remember quite vividly the ferocious crush he had once had on Maida, a crush more for her looks then for her personality. 

Wilkes...He stopped, shaking so violently his teeth snapped together with a clatter. Wilkes, still alive at this point in time, talking and smiling, occasionally looking over his shoulder to laugh into the eyes of his companion. He moved closer, fists clenched into painful knots. He could see every freckle, every pore on that man's skin, so very real and _ alive _ . Alive enough to take other lives. Completely forgetting his wand, his fingers curved into claws and went for Wilkes' throat... 

And met air, pushing violently against each other. He was standing with his hands buried halfway through Wilkes' throat while Wilkes continued to talk calmly. 

"Did you think you could change what's already happened?" a light, familiar voice asked. Skirts rustled behind him as the person moved closer. "This isn't real-or rather this is a reflection of what was once real. Don't you remember this day?" 

Snape turned to see Liliana Woodville standing quite near to him, small face unusually grave and serious. She was watching the people go by, head tilted and eyes intent and she didn't flinch at all when he pulled his wand out and aimed it at her heart. 

"Who...or more accurately, what, are you?" he snapped, hands trembling so badly he was finding it difficult to keep his wand steady. "What do you mean by appearing like this? Are you her dream self or a Dream Walker? Answer me!" 

She looked at him, face serene. "You're very familiar with the subject of Dream Walkers, aren't you?" 

_ "Answer me!" _

"How could you tell I'm not Liliana Woodville? Aren't I an exact copy?" 

He lowered his wand and stared her right in the eye. "She was wearing a different dress," he stated, pointing a finger at the plain black velvet, free of ornamentation worn by the copy. "And you...are not breathing." Her breasts were still, motionless without the breath to move them. 

"You're very observant," she said without a smile. Her eyes had shifted over to the front gates, peering at them through squinty eyes and spiky lashes while he tried to guess at what kind of entity she was. "But then again...if you don't like this form, I can take another." The girl's features ran together like ink smeared by water, to form a kindly face with a long white beard... 

"NO!" he thundered, then lowered his voice. "Not that." The figure stopped shifting, becoming a small, glowing space, trembling in a way that looked almost annoyed. 

"Does nothing please you? Well, how about this then?" The light rearranged itself once more, a female outline taking shape. Dark brown eyes, a kind smile and light brown hair... 

His knees gave way as if someone had suddenly and silently pulled them away from him and he crashed to the ground, gagging on the bile that had risen with the specter. "Not her," he managed to whisper, curling in on himself. The wind was drowning out half his words. "Anyone but her." He wanted to vomit and he choked on the urge. 

"So picky." Liliana Woodville looked down at him coldly, her eyes narrow. "I can only take forms that are in your mutual memories. So if the other two displease you, I shall stay like this." 

"Tell me what you are," he croaked, face pressed into the dirt. _ I don't want to be here anymore. _

"I would have thought it would have been obvious to someone of your knowledge what I am," she replied, prodding his body with a black-slippered foot. "Get up now-I believe this marks the beginning of your mutual memory." Shouting in the distance; people crying out with alarm and fear. He rose to his feet slowly and to his surprise the girl offered him an hand up. Her fingers were cold. 

His younger self and Lucius Malfoy were already staring at the source of the commotion; one by one the other Death Eaters followed suit. "My lord, my lord!" 

A different voice: "Open the gates! Get them open, damnit!" 

"What is this? What in the seven names of hell is going on out here?" 

Andrew Woodville had appeared at last, looking exactly as Snape could remember him: a tall, somewhat stocky man with hair that had been pure white for quite some time and vivid, angry blue eyes. Eyes that his daughters had inherited. He was standing on the steps of the castle's main entrance; upon hearing the noise he moved down them stiffly, setting each foot with care on the crumbling rock. His eyes were drawn in dark, tired lines, his face weathered like the bark of an old tree, a surprising show of age for a man who was only fifty.  
Andrew had always struck him as a man who would rather be sitting down with a good glass of port and the newspaper then going on raids; every movement he made at the Death Eater gatherings spoke of reluctance and a bit of loathing and he was often heard muttering under his breath. Yet he had never tried to leave and he did his tasks well if not willingly. Iolanthe on the other hand... 

A thin, rabbity looking man dashed up to Andrew and stopped before the bottom step, panting heavily. Blood spotted his hands. "My lord, Miss Liliana..." 

Andrew's face went from impatient to completely still. "Lily? What happened? Where is she?" He grabbed the panting man's hand so roughly the man let out a cry. "Is this her blood on you?" 

More shouting from the gates and all head turned that way. Lucius Malfoy and his younger self watched with matching smirks of amused curiosity. Above it all rose a high, demanding and very childish version of the voice he had come to know so well. "Put me DOWN! I am NOT a BABY!" 

A very large man walked silently in the middle of a group of people skipping around nervously and all shouting at the top of their lungs. He carried a small figure wearing a bright red cloak that was quite tattered and splashed with mud. Her face was sullen and mostly hidden behind her black hair, the lips pulled into a pout. Curiously, one of her feet was bare. It dangled beneath the hem of her dark blue dress, as covered with mud as her cloak. 

Two older girls and a stout, middle-aged woman trotted alongside the man, their robes almost as muddy as the girl's and there were twigs and leaves caught in the blonde one's hair. They seemed to be trying to offer encouragement to the girl, but from the closed, annoyed expression on her face, they weren't being very successful. The stout woman seemed to be swearing in German at the man carrying the girl, but his face never changed and his feet never strayed from the course he was plodding, which seemed to be aimed at one of the castle's side doors, avoiding Andrew. 

Snape quietly walked to where Lucius and himself stood, never taking his eyes off Miss Woodville's child-self. For some reason, the entity made no move to follow him and merely watched him go with a look of complete disinterest. 

He reached them just in time to catch a bit of a conversation he could still vividly recall: _ "Intriguing," Lucius said quietly, squinting at the girl. "Another of Andrew's far-flung relations? _

"I have no idea," he replied. He could remember being vaguely interested at this point, nothing more. _ "Curious spectacle, is it not? _

"Either way, we'll have our answer soon enough," Lucius said with a tight, thin smile. 

The man finally surrendered the girl to the woman- who must have been that nanny Miss Woodville had called out for in her delirium-and the woman slung a broad arm around Miss Woodville's narrow shoulders, letting the girl lean on her so she could take her weight off the bare foot. Hopping awkwardly, they disappeared inside the castle while the other two girls wrung their hands, looking alarmed and miserable. 

"FILTH! FILTH! OUT! OUUUUT!" Back they came, Miss Woodville and her nanny, almost flying out the door whilst Iolanthe went into a muted rave from inside the castle about her clean floors and the filth they were dripping on them. Iolanthe, he remembered, had always been a bit compulsive about the cleanliness of her castle, making everyone wipe their feet and take off their shoes, which always caused much grumbling. A jet of water followed the pair out of the door, soaking them both throughly. 

"My lady!" the nurse said in outrage, wiping water and mud off Miss Woodville's impassive face. "You don't care that your daughter is hurt? I need to clean her and heal her! My God, I think that is more important then your floors! You are not the one cleaning them after all!" 

"Cousin Margarethe!" the blonde said in a horrified whisper, a faint German accent overlaying her words. 

"ENOUGH OF THIS!" Andrew roared, his face turning as crimson as wine. "Nurse! Clara! Agnes! Most of all Liliana! What _has _happened _to _my _daughter?" 

No one moved for a few minutes. In the silence, Lucius Malfoy raised his eyebrows and remarked to young Snape, leaning close: "Daughter? This is the first _ I've _ heard of another child. Where has Andrew been hiding her? Out back with the turnips?" 

The nurse nudged Miss Woodville who had been staring at the ground, frowning. "Go show your lord father." 

Miss Woodville didn't move and if anything, her frown became even deeper. 

"Lily...I mean my lady," the brunette girl pleaded in a low voice, "please don't be stubborn now." She sent an ill-concealed look of terror towards the group of Death Eaters. 

The girl scowled, turned her head away and remained where she stood. 

With a sigh and a grunt, the nurse pulled Miss Woodville against her-"Ouch! Hey!"-and dragged her over to where Andrew stood. Once she had been settled in front of her father she was silent once more. 

"Liliana?" No response. 

The nurse knelt and began to pull up the hem of Miss Woodville's dress. One of the Death Eaters-Avery, yes it had been him, that filthy idiot-whistled. 

"Shut up!" the girl snarled, slapping at the nurse's hands, her face a study in outrage. "Stop it!" 

"Well, do it yourself, then!" the nurse snapped back, throwing the hem back down and stepping away, arms folded. 

Glaring most hatefully at everyone in turn, Miss Woodville reached down, took the hem in both hands with a defiant look-"The dress is ruined anyway," she said, as if it were perfectly obvious to everyone around what the state of the her clothing was-and tore the cloth violently in two, her pout changing to a look of satisfaction as she thrust her right leg forward. "I didn't cry once," she declared, chin high. 

Snape remembered being sickened by the state of her leg back then but it was nothing compared to seeing it in perfectly clear detail right in front of his eyes once more. Her leg was ripped open all the way to the top, blood flowing down it like a river. The flesh he could see through the cloth looked mangled and bruised. He wanted to retch and apparently so did his younger self judging from his shaking shoulders. "My God," he heard himself whisper, "how can she stand there like that and stand it?" 

To his complete surprise, Miss Woodville turned her head and looked straight at his younger self as if she had heard the muttered remark, and he noticed once again the wound over her eye. _ The blood ran into her eyes and she never blinked... _ There was a rusty pattern drawn on her cheek and he realised for the first time that she had a black eye as well. 

"My...my God," Andrew whispered, sinking to his knees in front of his daughter. He jerked his wand out and pointed at her leg, frantically muttering a Healing charm. The bleeding stopped and for the first time, Miss Woodville winced. "How did this happen?" 

She pressed her lips together and looked away. 

Andrew sighed, closing his eyes tightly and briefly. Then, before his daughter could react, he grabbed her and lifted her into his arms, carrying her back over to where her nurse and the other two girls waited, shifting apprehensively. Miss Woodville managed a few ineffectual kicks, but that was it. 

"You, Margarethe-take her back inside and clean her up-and don't let Iolanthe throw her out. Clara, Agnes-you are going to stay and tell me exactly how your mistress got into such a state," Andrew said in a flat and weary tone. The two girls looked quickly at each other, then at the floor, the brunette chewing her lip as Miss Woodville was led away. 

Lucius Malfoy gave a very audible sigh of impatience. "I fail to see what all the fuss is about-he's got two more children, hasn't he? It's not like she's his heir." 

"Andrew will hear you," young Snape whispered back, peering at Andrew from his hood. "And I think you'd act the same way if anything happened to Draco." 

Lucius smiled coldly, his teeth visible. "Draco," he murmured, "would not act so foolishly." 

"Draco," his younger self whispered back with just a bit of impatience, "is two months old." 

"Sir-my lord, we were in the forest-the one right outside the gates, not far at all, I swear. We were preparing to come back inside as the hour was late- when my lady saw an owl fly past," the blonde began, fingers pleating the skirt of her robes. 

"And she thought it might be Hoshiko," the brunette picked up, then sighed. Her bushy hair was plaited into a thick and not entirely neat braid. "And she went after it." 

Andrew ran a hand over his face. "She did love that owl," he said quietly. "But it has been more then three weeks since Hoshiko disappeared-I thought Liliana had accepted that her owl was gone." 

"We tried to stop her-Agnes and cousin Margarethe and myself-but she would not listen; you know how she is." 

"We all ran after her calling- _ stop, my lady stop _ -but she ran deeper into the forest, and she didn't stop until she found the owl where the owl had perched." Snape noted something else that was new; the brunette slipped a hand into the blonde's and squeezed gently. 

"And she climbed the tree despite our pleas," Clara said dully, her eyebrows drawn tight with pain. "And the branch broke when she was halfway across it and she fell as the owl flew away." 

Agnes' eyes were very bright. "She fell almost fifty feet my lord," she whispered, brushing a dirty hand across her face. "A Muggle wouldn't have survived. She bounced a little on the way down and I think that's what saved her." 

Andrew's face twisted and he turned away for a moment, his mouth jerking as if he were trying to find something to say. "Enough," he finally commanded, his voice thick and hoarse, and at that moment came the sound of footsteps from inside the castle. Miss Woodville reappeared with her hair laying wet over her shoulders as the nurse brushed it out and arranged in it braids. She was freshly dressed in a blue dress cut much in the same style as the ones her older self wore-although that dress wasn't quite so low cut-and she carried another red cloak over her arm. 

The girl sat placidly on the steps, examining her Maryjanes, while the nurse pinned her braids into loops and tied them with red ribbons, her mouth hard with disapproval. Agnes and Clara stared at her in horror. 

Andrew swallowed hard and apparently reached the same conclusion moments after the others did. "Don't you dare tell me you're going back out again," he finally blurted out, his voice undecided on whether to be nervous or angry. 

"I want my owl back, Father," Miss Woodville said shortly, not looking up. 

"How do you know that was Hoshiko? Would Hoshiko had flown away from you? No, daughter, it's a fool's errand. Stay here." 

Miss Woodville's face darkened, but she made no response. 

Hard footsteps marched towards them from the castle's main door and Snape looked over to see Iolanthe striding up, her narrow face rigid with anger and her black skirts swinging like a bell with each step. He stiffened as she passed, his hands clenching with loathing and he was having the hardest time trying to keep himself from jumping on that crazy, dried-up bitch and beating her past an inch of her life for what she'd done to her daughter.  
He'd never liked her, not even when he was younger, as he'd considered her to be just a few inches short of insane and the odd relationship between her brother and herself was just...yuck. Thankfully the only things Miss Woodville had inherited from her mother seemed to be her pale skin and narrow, fox-like face; in everything else she looked like Andrew. 

Iolanthe ignored her husband and instead went to Rufus- _ big surprise there _ -while Anida looked simply murderous. "Did you ever see the like?" Iolanthe hissed, clutching at her brother's arm. "Unnatural child. Her leg's ripped open and yet her face is like ice. I knew no good would come of her when I found out I was pregnant. Completely unnatural. I sometimes wonder if she's a changling left behind to spite me. She must be. She's no child of mine, acting like that." 

"Certainly not like our side of the family," Rufus drawled, the corner of his mouth turning up. 

"Shut up, Iolanthe!" Andrew barked and the group of Death Eaters snickered. "Liliana, come here at once!" 

Miss Woodville gave a very long, drawn out sigh and walked to her father, shrugging on her cloak as she went, her small fingers fumbling with the pin. 

"What are you thinking?" Andrew snapped, his face tense. "You are not going back out there." He snatched the cloak pin from Miss Woodville's hands and started wrestling with the material himself. "Climbing trees like that, were you trying to get yourself killed?" 

"Yes," Miss Woodville muttered sullenly as her father yanked at her cloak, "except I fell on Nurse and she broke the fall." 

Andrew gaped at her, then grabbed her shoulders and shook her furiously until Snape could hear her teeth rattle together from where he was standing. "Don't you EVER say that again, not even in jest!" he yelled, his face gone greyish-white like a bad mushroom. His daughter had no answer; she merely looked away with a sour stare until Andrew finally got the cloak pinned together; he then stepped back, bellowing, "JOHN! ROB!" 

The giant from earlier reappeared along with a short dark man. "My lord?" 

Andrew pointed at his daughter, thick finger shaking slightly. "Go with your lady and her companions after that damned owl-because I know if I try to keep her inside she'll just sneak out in the dead of night when I'm not looking. If you find the owl, _ you _ will go up the damned tree-not her. And if anything happens I'll break both your necks. Slowly." 

"Such fuss over a stupid little girl," Lucius said as he watched the going-ons, not even bothering to be quiet. "Such a plain thing too-that black mess over her white skin is a little too startling," and he could remember feeling stung, wondering if Lucius had meant it as a jab towards his looks as well. 

"CLARA! AGNES! NURSE! LET'S GO!" Miss Woodville shrieked, looking very unhappy. She turned and marched off towards the gates, limping slightly while her little retinue followed, all grim-faced. Andrew watched them go, shoulders slightly bowed. 

"I will see you later, sister," Maida said suddenly, as Miss Woodville passed, and Miss Woodville looked at her, eyes wide and startled. "See you later." 

"Uncle Rufus, Aunt Anida," she acknowledged as she ran past. Rufus inclined his head with a chilly smile. "Child." 

The girl reached the gates, moved to open them, and as she did, the scenery began to dissolve into little dots of light, faces and voices muted as he looked around in bewilderment. 

"And so it ends," Miss Woodville said, moving back over to him. "This is the only memory you both share? It's quite interesting." 

"What's going on?" he asked tersely, watching everyone around him shift into fog, except for the forest. "Why is this happening?" 

She looked at him, amused. "This is where your memory ends, so of course it can't continue," she explained. "Right now, since you touched the mist, your minds are touching-however, she is asleep without dreams, so we'll see nothing more from her. That is also why I can be here." 

"So you are her dream self." 

A superior look, eyes narrowed and chin lifted. "I'm not saying anything. Her memories are locked away, but yours are quite accessable. If I were you, I'd leave." 

With that she turned and walked away, apparently heading towards the forest that surrounded them, hips swaying exactly the same way as the real girl. 

"Wait," he called, hurrying after her. "Wait!" 

She didn't turn. "For you, going through the forest is not a good idea. Don't follow me." She laughed a little then, coldly, and mumured: "Voices of the night-if you should walk through the forest..." 

"What?" he snapped. 

"A lullaby her nurse used to sing. Now go." 

"Tell me what's going on, you insolent brat!" he snarled, eyes on her rapidly moving form. The girl reached the trees and paused, then looked back at him with a mocking smile- _ exactly the way she always smiles at me, like I'm a fool who refuses to see the truth staring him in the eyes- _ and slipped between the branches. 

He cursed, then plunged in after her, branches ripping at his skin, and was suddenly up to his neck in ice cold mist. 

_ "Don't worry Sevvie," she consoled him, her eyes solemn. "I'll take care of you." Their mother was dead and his father had shut himself in his room and wouldn't come out, not even to make food for them... _

Wood scraped at his face and he slapped the clutching twigs away. "Don't walk through the forest," he muttered. 

_ "Look Sevvie." He was seated on her lap in front of the cauldron, watching as she dropped a handful of crushed henbane into the mixture. "This is how you add the henbane...what comes next?" _

"Lizard bile," he said, six years old and very proud. 

"I always hated it when she called me Sevvie." Every now and then he would catch a glimpse of black skirts moving through dark trees. 

_ "Sevvie, come help me make potions," she cajoled, tugging on his hands. "It's not good for a little boy to be reading those kinds of books." _

His black eyebrows drew together and he glared at her. "I'm twelve, not a little boy," he said shortly, "and Father reads these books and does all right." 

"It won't look good if you know too much about the Dark Arts, jerk!" she snapped, smacking his head. "You're so good at potions-I want you to help me." 

"Just because she was six years older she thought she knew everything." The trees seemed to be thinning out and he moved faster. 

_ "Snape!" Rough hands grabbed his and pulled him up out of the tunnel, away from the hideous beast he'd seen at the end. "Sirius, you goddamned idiot, what were you thinking?" _

"I saw it-saw everything," he gasped, shaking with fear and triumph. "You tried to kill me Black, and your friend is a werewolf _ ...now you'll be expelled. I'm going straight to the Headmaster and just you wait. Just you wait and see." _

James stared at him. "If that's how you're going to be, I should have left you down there," he said bitterly. 

"Oh, and Sirius Black trying to kill me was right?" he snapped, brushing what felt like cobwebs off his face. "How loyal you were James-so very loyal..." 

_ "Master, I wish to serve you..." _

He had nothing to say and simply ran faster. 

The trees ended abruptly in a clearing and he nearly ran smack into Miss Woodville's dream self, who stood calmly in the clearing, watching something very intently. 

"There you are," he growled, panting. He grabbed her slender arm and tugged hard but she didn't even struggle. "Now..." 

"Shush!" she said, eyes fixed on what lay ahead. "I told you not to follow me." 

"Why," he began, then faltered, his voice stopping dead as he saw what her eyes were fixed upon. 

Before him, seeming to float on the mist around them stretched neat rows of people dressed in black, many sobbing and clutching each other. In the very front, the aunts wailed out their grief and clawed at each other, their narrow bodies shaking. 

"No..." he whimpered, falling to his knees once more. "Oh God, I don't want to see this. I had to live through this. I DON'T WANT TO SEE IT AGAIN!" 

"I told you not to follow, but..." she said and shrugged. He moaned and clutched at his head, fingers clawing at his scalp as hot grief tore wildly through him. "Must I be reminded?" _ Why...why I am remembering this...I thought I had accepted it, but it hurts so much, like it's happening all over again... _

"How could you forget?" she asked, as she made her way lightly over to the coffin, almost skipping, completely ignoring the grief-stricken horde that wailed and muttered around her. The girl stood on tiptoe and peered inside. "How sad...the little baby too?" 

"SHUT UP! Uncaring bitch!" he shrieked, wrapping his arms around himself to try and control his shuddering. He could see the only silent mourner of the whole group, sitting apart from the other with his head bowed while he shuddered as quiet grief and guilt put their hooks in his heart and ripped it to pieces, his lank hair falling over his face... 

_ "I couldn't help it! How was I supposed to know she was going to hold the kid in front of her?" _

"Ah gods," he whispered, and sank into darkness. 

Someone sang to him, but he couldn't make out the words. 

Velvet tickled his cheek and he opened his eyes, frowning. 

"So you're finally awake," the entity said, peering down at him with a curious stare. One of her small hands was resting on his hair, fingers separating the strands, and he shivered before he remembered what she was. 

"Why'd you bother?" he muttered into the velvet of her lap. The real girl smelled of lavender; this one smelled of nothing. No scent, no breath. No warmth. _ Like my dreams, only not pleasent. Then again, I shouldn't be associating pleasure with that woman in the first place. _

"You needed comfort," she said, as if he were stupid for not noting the obvious, and he bristled. "As you well know, Dream Selves can only react, never act. I reacted to your need. Simple." 

He pulled himself into a sitting position and her arms fell away. _ "You _ reacted or _ she _ reacted?" 

"I already told you, she's sleeping and had no part in this. What does it matter?" 

"Oh, it matters," Snape hissed, fierce anger mixed with guilt welling inside him. "I don't think even she is so empty-headed and amoral as to dance at a funeral!" 

She folded her arms and glared at him, mouth twitching. "You really are no different from the way you appear in her dreams!" 

"I...what?" 

Snape felt a bit as if something had smacked him hard on the side of his head; his ears were buzzing and he felt almost light-headed. "She...dreams about me?" he asked, hating the hesitant note that had crept in while he wasn't looking. The girl smiled cruelly as he asked the question she wanted. 

"Oh yes-nightmares mostly. You gave her quite a scare at some point. I called you the 'Dark Man' because you were almost always, with few exceptions, cruel, nasty, frightening-in short, she thinks you're a real bastard." 

"I'm thrilled to know she has such a high opinion of me," he said quietly, not sure whether he should be gladdened or a little upset by this information. _ Why do I care? Why should I care? _

"And yet..." he said slowly-_Perhaps I'll see how far this will go-_you mentioned exceptions. What kind of exceptions?" To his surprise, the being actually flushed. 

"None of your business! She doesn't like you." 

He noted with dim amazement that she wouldn't meet his eyes and her white skin had turned a wan rose. 

"You are blushing. Your hand was in my hair and you put me on your lap," he pressed, placing his hands on her arms, feeling oddly short of breath. "Tell me." 

She tried to pull away, which made him grip her more tightly. "No! How many times do I have to tell you that SHE DOESN'T LIKE YOU?" she hissed furiously, her face still red. 

Snape laughed coldly-this one was almost worse then the real girl, embodying all of her faults with none of her good-and pulled her closer, feeling as if his blood had been carbonated, all his frustration come to a bubble at once. "And you think I'm not capable of winning her over? You sit and lie to my face. So she has a small weakness towards me? All the better. What are you afraid of? This is a dream after all, only a dream: no different from when I dream," he whispered. "So either tell me her dreams-it's only fair now that my worst memories been laid out for her to pour over-or show me," he finished, putting his face close to hers. 

The girl was still. "She won't remember anything and likely neither will you," she muttered, small fists doubled. 

"All the more reason. She owes me so much," he said softly. His hands slipped up her arm as he leaned forward and she turned her head away, blushing a furious pink. "Show me, tell me...before I start experimenting to find out." Her head was bowed, her fingers trembling. He reached over and turned her chin to his with a finger, shivering at the coldness of her skin. She lifted her hands... 

And punched him hard right in the nose, sending him flying back. "Arrogant PERVERT!" she shrieked, and the last thing he remembered before he passed out was her contorted, furious face. 

Snape woke on his office floor with the cold tile pressing against his head, feeling dazed and unsteady. His nose ached terribly right on the bridge and he put a cautious hand to it. 

_ What the hell just happened? _

A small foot dangled near his head and he groaned. Judging from the soft snores, she was still asleep. 

"Damn it," he muttered. 

Something coarse was prickling into her cheek, many sharp little points disturbing her rest. She turned over and inhaled, an unfamiliar peppery smell coming to her. _ What is this? _

Lilika woke up then, blinking as she saw complete blackness instead of the expected hangings of her bed and her lamp. "Huh?" 

She tried sitting up but was forced back down almost at once and she couldn't even raise her shoulders more then a few inches. "What?!"

Panic bit hard into her heart as she tried struggling some more, to no avail. A heavy weight was pressing down on her, pinning her arms to her sides, covering her entire body in such a way that very little movement was possible. Frantic, she took in large gasps of hot, stale air as a terrifying vision flashed before her eyes... 

"They've buried me alive! ARGGGHH!" 

She kicked and pushed at the weight above her, becoming more and more frightened with every futile blow. "My god, my god, they must have thought I was dead when I was asleep, I _ knew _ I shouldn't have taken that potion from Snape, help me help me help me! HELP!" 

"HELP!" 

"HEL-oh." 

One of her hands had struck air and as she rushed up towards it, Lilika discovered that the weight was many heavy woolen blankets and she had been merely buried under the sheets in someone else's bed. She sat up completely and shivered as the cold hit her. "It must be twenty degrees below freezing in here!" 

She was in a large bed made of heavy, dark wood, with hangings the colour of old blood. The prickles turned out to be a feather pillow-she despised feather pillows-and about fifteen blankets had been piled on top of her, explaining the squashed feeling. Her panic slowly cooled into caution. 

"Where am I?" 

The room was large but fairly simple; there were bookcases on every wall, all crammed with dark, heavy books and several imposing wall cabinets. Very few pictures and what there were featured dark figures staring out gloomily from their frames. A desk, an ornately carved mantel with a fire that had nearly gone out and a large chair propped in front of it, a clock with a very loud, annoying tick. A good-sized tapestry with the Slytherin crest worked in green and silver threads that glinted with the dim light... 

Slytherin crest? 

"Christ!" 

She slipped out of the bed, pushing the blankets aside as she shivered, and nearly fell when the floor turned out to be several inches lower then she was used to. The floor was tile, which didn't help the chill any, and she ended up hopping from area rug to area rug to spare her stocking feet the cold. 

Lilika tiptoed up to the high-backed chair that faced the fire. The chair's back had blocked her view from the bed; now she could see the ottoman pulled up close to it and the black-clad legs propped on the ottoman. She crept over. 

Snape was sprawled in the chair, his lank hair falling over his eyes and he seemed to be perfectly fast asleep, with only a light blanket thrown over him for warmth. Masochist. His arms were folded over his chest, fingers parted on the blanket folds and his breathing was deep and even. She padded closer, wondering if it would be a good idea to wake him so she could ask him what the hell had possessed him to bring her down to his bedroom. 

Did his nose look a little bruised or was it the light? Lilika bent closer. 

As she peered at his face, moving even closer for a better look, there was a gleam from underneath his lashes. Just when her face happened to be two centimetres away from his own, Snape wrinkled his nose, coughed and then opened his eyes, looking very annoyed. 

Lilika shot about fifteen feet backwards, nearly tumbling over a chest as she did. "Uhhh..." 

His cross look deepened. 

Oh dear. "Umm...bathroom?" 

He pointed out a door by the side of the bed that she'd failed to notice, scowling as he did. "Um...Thank you." 

Lilika all but ran through the door, cursing under her breath and discovered that the bathroom was actually off a small sitting room. She used it, stewing inwardly about her lovely imitation of a scared rabbit back in his bedroom as she did. _ He gets a sitting room too? Lucky bastard. Guess the heads of house have perks other then expelling people. _

Lilika did a slow walk back to the bedroom-a very slow walk, taking a quarter step in place of each full one-and discovered Snape had turned around in the chair and was watching for her. She shut the door behind her and the lock clicked very loudly in the silent room. 

"Snape, I..." 

"Bed!" he ordered, pointing. She jumped, then decided the nasty look on his face was not just for show and darted in, huddling under the blankets and peering out cautiously once she was settled. 

He lay back in his chair with a grunt, apparently satisfied. _ "Goodnight, _ Miss Woodville." 

"Goodnight," she replied, rather quietly. _ Looks like I'm stuck. _

After beating the pillow into submission, she lay there stiffly, trying to work her way back into sleep. The room dropped into darkness as the fire finally went out with one last shuddering flame, while the clock ticked loudly away on the wall. 

The pepper scent must be his, she decided, sniffing the pillow as she lay against it. Not such a bad smell. He had very bad taste in pillows though. 

_ What am I going to do in the morning? _

Counting sheep did not work; counting dragons did not work and she was far too aware of the man supposedly sleeping just a few feet from her.

_What is he going to do in the morning?_

_First I take his chair; now I've taken his bed._

She was growing a little sleepy now with warmth, and her more practical side told her to shut up, stop thinking and enjoy the warmth so she could fall asleep.

Eventually, she did. 


	10. The Gathering

** Part 9 : The Gathering**

_-Your strength is my weakness, your weakness my hate-_   
**the smashing pumpkins **

It was well past midnight and the Dark Arts professor was still not in her bed.

The Grey Lady sank down on the bed's pale blue coverlet and bit down on her transparent lip, debating with herself about doing another sweep of the castle. Miss Jardin was simply nowhere to be found and had been missing for several hours now-in fact, the Grey Lady had not seen Miss Jardin since early that morning; Miss Jardin had been dressing, tugging a stocking angrily over her knee and muttering to herself, her eyes limmed with grey shadows. The Dark Arts professor had then raced through breakfast and slipped out of sight shortly after...twelve hours hence. She had apparently not left the grounds and had not been seen by any of the castle's residents. 

The Grey Lady pulled a wrinkle out of her skirts and stood up, ready and resigned to another search. She could not leave matters as they stood at present. The Dark Arts professor was a denizen of Ravenclaw Tower, and Ravenclaw Tower was always and ever her sole responsibility.

It was perfectly normal and quite reasonable to worry. If Miss Jardin had been wandering sleepless through the castle's halls or getting a midnight snack from the House Elves then all her worries would be for naught. But since the young lady in question had been seen by neither student nor ghost nor beast nor portrait for half a day, worry pressed forth. It was natural and commendable. Inevitable.

Painful. 

The Grey Lady walked across the carpet, her feet brushing it lightly and slipped through the wall on the far side, pressing her way through the rock.

The hallways were silent and even the portraits had drifted off to rest. Occasionally she would pass a fellow ghost passing in the other direction and they would nod or bow to each other depending on the era in which they had lived. She glided through the hallways, calling softly as she went, but she did not expect a response. Kitchen, gardens, classrooms, grounds-all full of people breathing quietly and all she met were where they should be.

She entered the Great Hall, paused to look at the dark wood of the tables and chairs gleaming in the light from the full moon in the ceiling and pressed a hand to where her heart had been.

The Grey Lady dropped to hover over a bench in the Great Hall and think hard, turning over each bit she could remember a hundred times over, fretting everything into pieces. A queer, nasty little suspicion was forming in her mind; it grew stronger and more definite each time her mind returned to Miss Jardin's muttering over her stockings that morning. Bits and pieces all jumbled together, but there had been recognisable words mixed within; "nightmares" and "tell him". To the Grey Lady, there was only one "him" who could be muttered about in that tone of voice. She sat quite still. No, she had not looked in every place in the castle after all; she had not checked the dungeons except for a cursory glance about the stairs. To venture deeper meant meeting the Bloody Baron.

The dungeons belonged to the Bloody Baron, who stalked them every night after curfew, insuring that no interloper would dare broach his domain. The other ghosts were not exempt from this decree and the Baron had made it quite clear several times over that no one was allowed in his dungeons without his express permission. Possessive as only a true Slytherin could be. She snorted softly between her teeth. Well, the Baron would have to content himself with letting her bend the rules a bit tonight-after all, he did not see the way Professor Snape looked at Miss Jardin. The Grey Lady shuddered, hands gripping her elbows. He was always staring at her with a cold, lurking hunger peering through the sneer in his eyes, and the worst thing of all was that the Grey Lady was not entirely sure Professor Snape even knew it was there. 

Well. Time to stop sitting and rescue her Dark Arts Professor. Placing an air of determined command on her face, the Grey Lady passed through the doorway that led to the Slytherin dormitories and hurried down the damp stone steps. The corridor reeked from the Potions classes held only a short way away and she resisted the temptation to hold a nose she did not have anymore.

She placed a thin hand on the wall. Perhaps it would temper the Baron's wrath if she didn't actually enter the Slytherin chambers. The Slytherins slept here and their Head of House slept further down, over _here_...

"Lady Anna," a voice rumbled quietly from behind, emphasis on each word, and her back stiffened in response. "Why are you here?"

The Bloody Baron was the only one who called her by name. She turned her head enough to see him looming behind her, gaunt and pale, his silver colouring dimmer then any of the other ghosts at Hogwarts.

"Baron," she said politely, and made a slight curtsey as she tried to gauge exactly how upset he was. "I believe your Head of House has made off with a resident of my Tower."

The Baron looked at her in silence for a long moment and it took a tremendous effort of will to keep her face blank and innocent. His silence was not unusual; the Baron preferred to simply stare at his victims until they ran away screaming. This tactic had limited success on other ghosts however, and for those cases the Baron would step close to the offender and glare at them until they went away. You simply couldn't argue with perfect silence.

"I know," he said simply, and offered her his arm. Her jaw dropped.

"You KNOW?" she blurted, her voice jumping madly over each syllable before she could regain control of it.

"I know," he said again, and offered his arm once more, with a pointed little shake that told her she was to take it.

After a minute, she did. 

Taking her back to Ravenclaw had been out of the question from the start. The closest secret passage was the one he had used the night he had checked her skinny arm for a Dark Mark that wasn't there, a passage that was completely unsuitable in the present situation because it opened out into the Ravenclaw common room. That left taking her back with him into Slytherin, another highly unappealing prospect but sadly the only reasonable solution. He growled.

Getting her back to the Slytherin dormitories would be difficult. The corridors swarmed with students packed end to end in each direction and he doubted very much that his Slytherins would understand if he suddenly appeared in their midst with an unconscious girl in his arms. He would be forced to creep and cringe against the walls like a mouse, an activity that set his teeth even more on edge as he thought about it.

He had been forced to wait until nightfall, when everyone was at dinner and Hogwarts empty save for the dining room. In the meantime he wandered about his office, making a half-hearted attempt at reorganisation and the work he had meant to complete, pausing every so often to glare viciously at the small slumped figure inhabiting his chair. Every now and then she would shiver and draw her arms and legs in closer to her small body. Poor, poor little princess. She could shiver and whimper all she liked. It was a most fitting punishment for her trouble. However, when her lips had begun to show blue around the edges, he had been forced to cover her with a spare cloak to spare her frostbite, sneering all the while. 

It wasn't that cold.

"Weakling," he snapped, studying the sleeping girl. Her body barely made a dent under the scratchy woolen folds of the cloak. Such a tiny, little _helpless_ thing, a endless bit of trouble he couldn't even deal with until after she was awake. He bent close and whispered to her prone body. "Serves you right for putting yourself in this situation, oblivious, unconscious and helpless. You are very lucky, Miss Woodville, that I am a man of honour."

Snape busied himself with cleaning the glassware while he waited out the hours until nightfall.

At last the footsteps and voices had both died away and he was free to act. Rubbing a kink out of his neck with equally stiff fingers, he went to Miss Woodville and unceremoniously lifted her from the chair by her forearms, gathering her into a position where he could comfortably carry her. Her skin was dry and chilled but she was light, and as he pulled her against him she muttered incoherently and snuggled up against his chest.

A drop of sweat touched his forehead for just a brief moment. Merely because of the warmth, that was the only reason, he told himself sternly over and over as he swiftly ducked through the corridors with his awkward burden. She had shivered in his office; he was a source of warmth and that was the only reason she had leaned up against him. The only reason. The words looped through his brain, running endlessly over each other all the way back to his chambers. 

Once they were safely inside his bedroom he dropped her on the bed and went to wash his hands. When he returned he was a bit dismayed to see that the impact from landing on his bed hadn't awakened her; she slept on, oblivious to everything except what swirled in her dreams.

He frowned suddenly. Someone had told him something about her dreams but the memory was faded and ragged around the edges and he couldn't grab hold of the threads long enough to tell. His nose ached dully with the thought and he put up a hand to rub it. 

Well. If she was going to be spending the night he could put her on the floor in a blanket, over near the fire. _It should be perfectly comfortable for her._ Snape bent to lift her once more, but as he did she shivered violently and clutched his pillow tightly in her small hands.

"Get OFF!" He pulled sharply and nearly succeeded in tumbling her off the bed, but her hands were clenched on the pillow as if they had been nailed there. "Fine, fine. I refuse to humiliate myself by playing tug-a-war with a girl who's not even awake. Keep the bed, brat, and may you have horrid dreams all night long."

A soft snore was his only response. 

Miss Woodville was in his bed and he now lacked a place to sleep. He certainly was not going to sleep in front of the fire like a dog, which left his very uncomfortable chair as the only place to lay. So be it. He would add the events of tonight to her running list of favours she owned...all of which he now wanted repaid with interest. Doubled interest.

The infuriating, vexing, abominable, wretched little girl still shivered on his covers. She would need to lay under his covers to keep warm and from the look of it, might need several more beside.

"Which means your shoes have to come off," he muttered, lifting her slightly and pulling his sheets back and to the side. He laid her in the center of the folds, taking care to let her legs dangle off the bed's sides, then undid one buckle and slid the strap back. The shoe fell to the floor with a muffled thump and he pulled off the other just as easily. With a push, her legs came back up onto the bed and he draped the covers around her, then stepped back and studied her. Something was off.

The glasses. He pulled them off and folded the stems, placing them on the nightstand. Simple, yet not quite right. There was more.

Those pins in her hair. It was falling loose anyway so he might as well take it down and spare himself the complaints he would get in the morning if he left the pins in and they gave her a headache. Snape placed a hand between the sharp wings of her shoulder blades and lifted her into a sitting position, fumbling around with the other hand in the crow black mess pulled tightly around her head. He drew out each of the slender silver pins buried within her hair-there must have been ninety of them-dropped them beside the glasses and her hair spilled out over his hands.

No wonder she needed so many pins. The hair fell to her waist and a little beyond and it was much thicker and softer then he had imagined. Strands wove themselves around his fingers, the flat, slightly reflective black of spilled ink and as fine as spider silk and he was enjoying this far too much. Far too much pleasure. Pleasure did not belong to this one, pleasure was frightening with this one, pleasure belonged to someone else long since dust and try as he might he could not unsnarl his fingers from her hair.

For just one moment, he thought about ignoring his chair and sleeping beside her, with an ample amount of space between their bodies of course. It had crossed his mind more then once that perhaps, just maybe, his night terrors would fade if there was the warmth of another body sleeping beside his, that maybe the sound of someone breathing quietly into the silence would hold all his fears at bay. Yet even as the thought passed through his mind he knew perfectly well he could do no such thing with her; they might start out at opposite ends of the bed but at some point he would awaken to find himself curled around her, face buried in her hair.

And when she woke up and saw him in bed with her, she would castrate him.

"Enough," he said curtly, and with only a little tugging he was able to free himself from her hair. Hair, glasses-that left the scarf around her neck; it could easily twist itself around her throat if she was a restless sleeper. He carefully tucked the thin material between the tips of two fingers and pulled it away from her neckline, exposing an ample amount of white skin. Sweat ran down his back with the movement. Those low necklines she wore were simply indecent, even if there was nothing there to be seen; it was the thought, the suggestion that counted.

She was now suitable for sleeping and once the blankets had been piled around her she shivered not at all. Of course you could hardly tell there was a girl there with all those blankets on top; he pulled the pile away from her face so she would be able to breathe and watched her for a bit. Her lips were slightly parted, her face full and soft in pleasant sleep and he felt rage gather in him once more.

"What luck you have," he snarled, staring down at the small white face. "You always come out on top, don't you?" His eyes watched her lips part with each breath.

_Bastard. She thinks you're a bastard._ a voice whispered behind his ear. _She'll never change her mind, she's stubborn, I know her. You never change your mind either, do you? But it's too late, isn't it? She remains unchanged while you had to.._

"I have not," he snapped, unable to take his eyes off her face. "She's nothing to me. A spoiled rotten, breakable, helpless little object that I've been forced to protect."

_I thought she was a child at first, and then she turned and I saw that she was a woman...Then they told me this child, this woman, this delicate little creature with the bright blue eyes was going to teach the most important, most vital subject of this year, Defence Against the Dark Arts.._

_And you hated. And your hatred spun a twin thread of longing that grew and pushed roots deeply even as you tried to strangle every last bit. Don't you want her still Severus?_ A soft voice caressing his ear, bringing unbidden visions of soft white hands stroking him and he trembled._ Don't you want her to lay back and open herself to you, let you pry out all her secrets...?_

"Shut up," he chanted through clenched teeth. "Shut up shut up shut up. I don't want that, don't feel like that. Her favours will be repaid in a different coin."

_When someone gives me something, I have to give them something in return._

"And so you do," he whispered. His finger slid along the edge of the blanket, just above the sharp rise of her collarbone. "So many things...the first is..."

_A kiss. That's what started this sorry mess off. She gave me a kiss I have an _obligation_ to return._

He bent halfway before he realised this was going to be a poor substitute for the one she was owned; she needed to be awake, helpless and wide-eyed in anger and indignation, just as he had been. _But,_ he told himself fiercely, _this will prove there is nothing between this girl and myself. Nothing. Frustration builds over time and it's been a VERY long time and it's all because she merely happens to be the only female around anywhere near my age and I will remain untouched._

His breath stirred the hair on her cheek. 

_Completely untouched._

His mouth touched hers and lightning went off in his brain. 

The Grey Lady would have sprang through the wall, aiming herself straight at the professor's throat had the Bloody Baron's hands not suddenly clenched hard on her arms.

"Let me go," she whispered hoarsely, her voice thick and slow with unaccustomed rage as she strained against her bonds. "Let me go."

"Hold yourself," the Bloody Baron said quietly, his hands firm. "He's moving away from her-watch his face. I believe your lady is safe."

Snape was backing away from the bed where he had just stolen a kiss from a helpless girl, shaking his head with a look of bright panic in his eyes. He touched his lips, took his hand away and stared at Miss Jardin, touched his lips with trembling fingers once more. "No no no no," he whispered fervently, rubbing his mouth as if it had been scalded. He stumbled away from the bed towards the fire, his face gone white and sweat shining dimly in the hollows of his cheeks. "No no no no."

Miss Jardin slept on, breathing evenly, unaware of the assault the Potions Master had just perpetrated on her being. In fact, she almost seemed to smile underneath her cocoon of bedding. 

"He won't hurt her," the Bloody Baron repeated, holding her steady. "Calm and wait for morning. A kiss here, a kiss there..it never hurt anyone."

Professor Snape had collapsed to his knees by the fire, breathing in heavy, ragged sighs. 

Lilika woke slowly, through a haze of wool, to the sound of someone moving around the room and not being terribly quiet about it either. She opened her mouth to tell off the Grey Lady for waking her so early, then shut it as her eyes opened. "Right."

Snape stalked into view on her left, his mouth twisted into a fierce crescent by anger or annoyance. Glassware rattled as he set it down outside the field of her vision. Things were flung by the sound of it. "Well, well, my little princess is finally awake. I trust you slept well?"

"I don't like feather pillows, so no," she answered, hoping that would please him enough, and pushed back the covers so she could stretch, pulling her elbows behind her head and wiggling her toes. There seemed to be a bit more of a draft then usual, the air cold on her neck and shoulders. Funny. 

Snape glanced at her and then whipped around and darted through the door to his sitting room, his face a strange greyish colour. She snorted after he went, shifting her shoulders to loosen the kinks and felt her hair move against her back with the quick movement. Startled, she gently ran her fingers down the mass. Her hair band was gone and so were the pins that held her ridiculous tumble of hair in place. 

She managed to locate her glasses on the nightstand and reset them on her nose, pushing them back into place with a finger. "Why'd you take down my hair?" she asked, raising her voice so she could be heard over the commotion from the next room. Her hair things were also on the nightstand, so she gathered up all of the slippery silver pins and shoved them into her pocket, winding the band around her wrist so she wouldn't forget it.

Goosebumps were dimpling her arms and she was hugging herself to stay warm when Snape reappeared, his face hard and his mouth sour. He shut the door behind him with a sharp click. 

"Why are you still here? Get out. I'm tired of looking at you. You've already made me lose a whole day with that little stunt you pulled," he snapped off, not looking at her. He was moving swiftly around the room, yanking drawers open and taking small objects out, which he then put in a canvas sack that was hanging loosely from his wrist.

"Why'd you take down my hair?" she asked again, half out of curiosity and half for the fun of watching his face turn a ruddy purple with rage. "You did do it; you took out all the pins..."

Snape skidded to a stop in front of her, his thin hands a twitch with the veins standing out. "Because," he spat-oddly, he seemed to be addressing the floor and not her-"I did not want to hear any complaints that your tender head was hurt from sleeping on that _legion _of hairpins you employ to keep that crow-coloured mess under control."

"A thoughtful gesture? From Snape? My goodness, hell hath frozen over, though you certainly wouldn't be able to tell from the temperature in here."

"Not up to your usual standard," he muttered.

Lilika shrugged demurely. "I'm still half asleep, begging your pardon. Even so..." She began to let loose with a certain sly and pointed insult she had been waiting for ages to use but just as she started her voice trailed off into a shriek and then died entirely.

Her dress had shifted on her shoulders and as she put a hand up to the material of her bodice to readjust it, Lilika discovered that she was handling mostly breast and very little bodice. "My scarf! YOU TOOK MY SCARF?"

No wonder he wouldn't look at her directly. Lilika glanced down hurriedly, cheeks flaming with blood, and saw most of the pale skin of her bosom was now exposed and not only exposed, but as pocked with goosepimples as her arms. The total effect very much resembled the skin of a raw chicken. She tried hard to form words, mouth shaping desperately, but all that came out was another thin little shriek.

Snape pulled her scarf off the bed post with a smirk and handed it to her, or rather wrapped it around her limp hand. "My lady," he purred, shaking his head in a slow parody of sorrowful neglect, "you look positively wretched. But look on the bright side. It's not as if there is much there to see anyway and I still fail to see how _this_ covers anything...Come, Miss Woodville, it's really nothing to get so worked up about."

Her face was burning so hotly it should have set her body totally aflame and spared her the indignity of watching Snape's eyes fill with gleeful malice as he smiled at her, savouring the undignified situation she had ended up in. 

"You..you pervert," she croaked, praying desperately for the ground to open or to burst into flames or something, anything better then having to see Snape smirk at her. The ground remained firm and unbroken.

"Miss Woodville, you're the one showing the skin," he said smoothly, one eyebrow raised. "Perhaps you shouldn't bandy the word 'pervert' about so freely..."

Gasping between rage and humiliation and unable to find anything to save this situation, she whirled around, smacked the door open, and ran out of Snape's chambers, past the stares of a few surprised Slytherins. Her feet pounded the stones as she sprinted towards Ravenclaw, trying to put as much space between herself and those damned Slytherins in as little time as possible.

Dear God, it wasn't that much skin. She risked another glance down at herself.

There was still a good inch and a half of fabric between herself and total exposure. That filthy, venomous snake.

She ran on. 

The look on her face had almost been worth it, he thought, equipment bag swaying against his back as he strode towards the Great Hall and the meeting place he had designated for the students wishing to work for a little credit in Potions. Almost worth the painful, slow-burning arousal that had come with watching her stretch and lounge about on his bed, her soft white breasts mostly exposed, taunting him with what he couldn't have. (If she was going to lounge about on his bed, a small new voice he had already began to hate whispered, she was going to do it wearing as little clothing as possible). Almost worth the vinegar taste of the realisation that like it or not...very much not...that he was attracted to her. Attracted to her- the girl, the vexation, the crow, the thorn.

"Hormones," he muttered. "Mind over body, spirit over flesh."

A tiny group waited for him at the largest pillar in the hall and he was not terribly surprised to see they were all Slytherins. A fourth year boy, a sixth year girl, Mr Malfoy and his loyal stooges. His charges for the day. He eyed the group as he walked up; all looked to be fighting varying degrees of sleepiness and Crabbe's small piggy eyes nearly vanished into his face they were so close to shutting. Snape stamped his foot sharply and they all jerked awake at once as if they'd been set to do it. 

"Well," he said. "This is everyone? Pitiful. The five students out of how many hundreds who aren't afraid of a little hard work for their grades. Let's be off then; we have a ways to walk." The group shuffled to their feet and he walked off towards the doors, his students trailing obediently behind. There was quite a lot to do today, he mused. It would take a good half hour just to walk to the spot in the Forbidden Forest and then to get everyone set up and instructed...

"Wait sir," Mr Malfoy said suddenly from a few steps behind everyone else and Snape stopped, craning his head so he could look over his shoulder. "I nearly forgot to wake her back up."

Snape stared at him as Malfoy walked quickly back towards the pillar. "What do you mean? Wake up who?" But Mr Malfoy had already disappeared 'round the pillar and was talking in whispers to someone hidden behind it. Now that he looked, the edge of a black skirt was just barely visible against the shadows. Snape swallowed hard and his liver slowly tied itself into a knot. 

A few minutes later, Miss Woodville came out from behind the pillar, tousled and sleepy-eyed but awake and with Mr Malfoy tagging her steps, yawning behind a pale hand. Her bright red cloak matched the fire. "Nice to see you again, Professor," she said sweetly, her lips slightly curved and her eyes bright with innocence. "Shall we be off?" 

"What are you doing here? How did you find out?" Snape hissed in her ear as they lead the silent students towards the Forbidden Forest. She had to step very quickly to keep up with his longer legs, since he seemed to be very determined to leave her behind."I thought I was going to get a break from you for once, damnit!"

Lilika smiled calmly at him, enjoying the ruddy anger in his face. "Well, you did put up notices around the school that you wanted volunteers and I simply couldn't pass up the opportunity to discharge some of my debt. Besides, you can't watch me if you're off in the Forbidden Forest gathering potion things, can you?" she asked, kicking away leaves with the toe of her boot. She accidently kicked some at Snape's ankles and he growled, then began to walk even faster, forcing her to run to keep up. "Besides, this is my way of fulfilling our bargain. You do remember our bargain, don't you Snape?"

He was staring straight ahead. "This is going to take considerably more then an hour, Miss Woodville," he said finally and threw a glance back at the Slytherins trotting along behind them. "And keep your voice down."

"Too late for that; I've already been spotted running out of your chambers, Snape," she said, looking up at his face, which darkened to a nasty yellowish-grey at her words. "Maybe if you hadn't been such an ass..."

Snape stopped so abruptly she overshot him, staggering as she tried to bring herself to a quick stop, but he reached out and clamped both hands down on her shoulders, dragging her back to him. Her face was no more then an inch away from his. "Behave yourself," he whispered, his uneven teeth clenched and a horrible anger twisting his face. "Behave before I murder you in front of witnesses!"

Lilika looked away, blood rushing into her face. _Blushing? I should not blush. I do not blush. I am an idiot sometimes._

She found herself suddenly not wanting to look into those black eyes. "Only if you behave as well. I'm not going to conform to your standards unless you are willing to reciprocate in turn," she said firmly, despite her unease. After a moment Snape released her and stepped back, his face wiped clean of emotion once more.

"Of course," he said. 

"That's not an answer," she pointed out.

"Can't you ever stop?" he hissed. "Fine. I promise that if you behave, I shall behave."

She smiled. "It's so nice to see that we understand each other." 

They walked further into the Forbidden Forest and it seemed to Lilika that with each step they took the light grew dimmer and more grey, the tree branches crowding them in more thickly on each side, forcing the little group to become a straight line. The birds cawed, chuckled and cackled to themselves, but few sang.

She tried several times to ask Snape exactly where they were going and what they would be gathering but he cut off each word with a grunt and she soon gave up trying to speak to him. The Slytherins were completely silent behind them except for the crunch of their feet on the leaves, making the atmosphere even more unsettling. They flanked Snape like an honour guard, pushing her off to the side and into the reach of several nasty grasping branches and they refused to budge, even when she nudged them back. Lilika was glad when they finally stopped in a clearing bright from the sun and Snape announced that this was where they'd be working.

She busied herself looking around as Snape lectured the students, studying the stunted trees, bushes and rocks with curiosity. All wore the same shade of grey-brown and the trees looked rather tired, branches sagging and their leaves half gone. The Forbidden Forest really didn't look all that nasty and there was no sign of the vicious creatures that supposedly roamed around the trees.

Snape stepped up behind her and put a trowel into her hand. She blinked up at him in confusion. 'What..?"

"Weren't you listening?" he snapped. "You dig with this, Miss Equipment Impaired, and when you reach the _caelus_ root- it's blue and thick, you can't miss it-you take it out with your hand. Do not use the trowel. They are easily damaged." His lip curled into a sneer. "Do you understand, or shall I draw you a diagram?"

"That won't be necessary," Lilika said with as much haughtiness as she could muster through her embarrassment. She stalked over to a log a few paces away as Snape set the Slytherins out in a wide circle but close enough so he could keep an eye on them. Wishing heartily that she had kicked him, she perched on the log and made a few stabs at the dirt before footsteps warned her that Snape was coming back her way and she began to dig in earnest.

She was sweating through her dress by the time she reached the first root and a small mountain of dirt lay at her side. She wiped her forehead with a grimy hand and stared at the reward for her hard work. Ick.

Lilika reached slowly out to take hold of the root, not entirely wanting to touch it. It was indeed blue and thick but it was also shining with some sort of greasy film and as she watched it, the root _moved._ Her mouth twisted. Disgusting.

A shadow darkened the ground in front of her.

"Not to your liking, my dear?" Snape purred from far above her, a smooth roll to his voice that told her he was very pleased with himself. She could feel him looming like a thundercloud against her back, apparently enjoying his superior vantage point.

For two minutes she thought about grabbing a handful of dirt and flinging it at his head but thought better of it-they were quite far from witnesses after all and the Slytherins certainly weren't going to tell on their beloved Head of House. She reached for the root.

Tugging gently, she tried to ease it to the surface but just as she was halfway up the root squirmed violently in her hand. She yelped and let go, watching as the root fell all the way back to the bottom of the hole. "Damnit!"

"Helpless," Snape pronounced. He hitched up his robes and knelt at her side, but he seemed more smug then angry. _Small wonder that. _She refused to look at him. Why should she look when she could feel the smugness just radiating from his body? "Absolutely helpless." He did like that word. "Here, girl-like this-"

Snape reached over and wrapped his right hand around hers, his skin hot and dry, not greasy like his hair. Her fingers twitched in surprise but she forced herself to remain outwardly calm. _What's he doing?_ He had slung an arm around her shoulder and leaned into her, his weight mostly against her back as they reached down into the hole. His warmth was bleeding slowly into her skin.

"Look here." He folded their hands around the disgusting thing, showing her how to place her fingers on it. It was hard to concentrate with him breathing near her face and shifting his weight like that; she was growing much too warm and restless and for the first time she became conscious of how much smaller she was compared to Snape. 

Little puffs of air escaped from her lips. She couldn't breathe properly with him leaning on her and she couldn't pull her hand away as their fingers were too firmly entwined. Warmth slipped from her arm down into her belly and slowly pooled there. 

Together they managed to guide the damned thing out of the hole and place it on the ground. "There." Snape pulled his hand away from hers and gave it a little shake to get the dirt off. He rose, brushing his robes off, his face calm, utterly unchanged. "You can manage now, I hope? I need to supervise the others and can't spend time catering to your inexperience." He turned and left for where Malfoy and his cronies were sitting and arguing over something before she could frame a reply.

Left alone, Lilika stared at her filthy hand. A funny tingle ran up from her hand, making it shake a little as if she was chilled but she was very warm. Hot even. Her back still felt his weight leaning upon her, the way his arm had moved against her...Her forehead was hot. Burning. Thinking like that made her burn. She put her other hand to her forehead. Could she be sick again? Better thinking about that then thinking about the funny little throbbing tingle that made her flush and itch. It happened to be centered somewhere down in her lower belly.

Snape touched her and now she felt funny. She let out a small laugh, sharp as a thorn. Was she going mad?

A truly horrible, awful, terrible thought came to her all unwanted, piercing in its clarity the way unwelcome thoughts often are. 

Snape had touched her _and she liked it. _

"My God, are you somehow punishing me by giving me this weird chemistry with _that man_? Of all the things I've had to put up with, this tops it all!"

She pulled her eyes from the heavens and glared fiercely down at her body. Her traitorous, deceitful body. "So _what_ if I haven't had any in years. What did I ever do to you?" she snapped in a whisper, hating the flush, the tingle and most of all the itch. "Am I so desperate that you'd act like this for _Severus Snape?_" 

"How much longer are we going to be doing this?" Lilika asked Snape as they ate lunch sitting on her log, Snape on one end and herself at the far other. She licked the crumbs of her sandwich off her lips as he glared at her around his own sandwich. She wrinkled her nose back at him, not really in the mood for any of his antics right now. Snape had been very cranky as he gave her some of the food he had brought, grumbling that he hadn't been expecting an extra person, much less one that was capable of eating her entire body weight in one sitting. Since she had no clue how to get back out of the forest on her own, she let that pass.

She was keeping as much distance between his body and hers as possible, very determined that there be no further physical contact between them until she figured out just what the hell had happened before. Snape seemed oblivious and she was quite confused.

_How come nothing like this happened when I kissed him before?_ she puzzled, taking another bite of her sandwich. _I kissed him and it was plain and simple and I wasn't flushing and blushing and burning all over the place. Then he touches my hand and I fall all apart. Perhaps I'm hormonally inbalanced. This is right around the time of the month..._

Feeling more cheerful, Lilika finished her sandwich in two large bites and reached for another. These were wonderful sandwiches, better then any of the food she'd tasted so far at Hogwarts, full of lovely flavours and salty, creamy cheese. Her hand touched the platter and found it empty.

Lilika slowly raised her eyes and discovered the last sandwich was with Snape and apparently uneaten. He was just holding it, eyes focused on something in the distance. She let out a whimper. If there was anything she hated, it was perfectly good food sitting around untasted.

He blinked twice and gave himself a little shake, then his eyes fell on her. "What?" he snarled.

"Are you going to eat that?" she asked, unable to keep all the eagerness out of her words. His snarl cut even more deeply into his face in response. "Come, Snape, it wouldn't hurt you to be generous once in a while..." To her surprise, his snarl faded to a resigned sigh.

"Here then," he said, holding out the sandwich on the very edge of his fingers. "Is there no limit to your appetites?"

Now she was left with a quandary-take the sandwich from his hand and touch him in turn or refuse and make him angrier. "Can't you just put it down on the log?"

He stared at her. "And have it get all filthy? Are you mad, woman? I thought you wanted this--take it then."

Still she hesitated and a smile spread quietly across his face. "Well," he said with a tiny shrug, raising the sandwich to his lips, "if that's the way you're going to play it..."

Lilika lunged for the sandwich and ended up draped over his lap, her arms tangled in his and a very good view of the smirk on his face. She popped back up immediately and sat down fuming on her end of the log, eating her prize while Snape watched her, a thoughtful quirk to his mouth and his black eyes glittering.

She finished, subtly licked some cheese off her fingers and sighed in pleasure, closing her eyes. The sunlight turned the inside of her eyelids a brilliant rosy red. "Lovely sandwich. The house elves outdid themselves that time."

Snape had turned away to rummage in his rucksack. "The house elves didn't make the sandwiches," he said, his voice slightly muffled by the sounds of his search. "I did."

Her eyebrows went up of their own accord and she opened one eye to look at him, still bent over his equipment. "You made these sandwiches?"

"Do I hear an echo? Yes. Those sandwiches were to be for me alone, not a small interloper."

"Better to be small and neat then tall and over-stretched," she sang quietly. 

Snape's back stiffened and he whipped around, face twisted in anger. He went off so easily; that hadn't even been a particularly strong insult. "Miss Woodville," he began in a taut voice, but his words choked off into a gasp and he put a hand to his throat, chest heaving.

"Snape?" His face quickly turned a sour white, like bad milk and he crumpled in on himself, shoulders shaking. "Snape!"

Lilika jumped up, heart bouncing against her ribs and ran to him, putting a hand on his quivering shoulder. The cloth was plastered to his skinny frame, damp and sticky from sweat. "Snape? What's the matter? Snape?" He was clutching his knees, the thin ridges of his knucklebones white and stiff against his skin and his yellow teeth were bared, sunk into his lower lip. One arm seemed spastic.

Bright panic rushed through her. _Dark magic._ She turned to look at the students but all of them were a good distance away, though still in sight and they appeared not to notice anything out of the ordinary. Even Malfoy was still arguing with his toadies. "Snape! Please answer me!" Cold fear bit at her heart and her legs were trembling, sweat pooling in the backs of her knees and the top of her thighs. She knelt at his side so she wouldn't fall, shifting her arm so she could give him something to lean on. His greasy hair was hanging lankly in his eyes, hiding most of his face.

He managed to open his mouth enough to speak and she was horrified to see dark blood welling on his lower lip. "My arm..burns.." he whispered, and from the way his face was contorted she knew he was trying his best not to scream.

"It's your left arm, isn't it?" she said, frantically digging into her pockets for a handkerchief. Why couldn't she keep anything neat? Her fingers snagged it and she put it to his mouth, urging it against his lips."Snape, bite down on this instead." He shook his head, unwilling or unable. "Snape, I will not let you bit your lip off. You'd be even more hideous then usual and I already have trouble looking at you, so bite down." 

"Please," he whispered, his voice slow and thin with pain, "just go and let me handle this..."

"Let you handle this!?" she spat. "Are you fucking _insane_? Do you want the students to find out? You handle this while you squirm and twitch as if you were dying? Oh, Snape." A new fear pricked her and she gently pulled the hair away from his face. "Voldemort can't kill you through the Dark Mark, can he?"

A short and hollow sound that might have been a laugh pressed from him. "Wouldn't do that. Would torture me, want to see my face. This is his way of punishing me for refusing to come."

Lilika stroked his hair back, sliding her arm further around him in an effort to better support his weight. He was using her handkerchief now but the little smothered noises he was making were just as horrible to her ears as any shriek of pain. She reached over and started to roll his left sleeve up.

He jerked away from her hands. "Stop it. You act like I've never seen a Dark Mark before," she said, pulling the fabric away from his skin, doing her best to be gentle and steady. "I find it hard to believe you could have forgotten what I come from." Snape shook his head and shuddered heavily as air touched his Mark, his arm now gone quite stiff. 

"How ugly," she said quietly. The Mark was not its usual black, but a shuddering greenish-red that was almost giving off light, so brightly did it glow. The skin around it was bright red ebbing away to dead white and apparently sore, which she discovered when she touched it lightly and Snape yelped.

"Hush." Lilika pulled out her wand, found another handkerchief and reached for the flask of water they had been drinking from. _Ice would help the burn and numb his skin enough to help the pain. I think._ "I don't want to use my wand directly on that Mark-for all I know, he might be able to sense magic performed on it." She laid her wand across her lap and poured the water onto her handkerchief, soaking it transparent. "I hope this helps." A Freezing Charm later her handkerchief was now a flat sheet of ice. Gritting her teeth against the cold, she pressed it against his skin.

He screamed and she was nearly flung away by his thrashing, but she clutched at his robes with her free hand and managed to avoid being tossed. "Is it not working? Should I stop?" 

Snape shook his head and panted: "No...keep trying...nothing better at hand." The skin of his arm was a flat grey but his face seemed a little more relaxed so she placed the handkerchief back against his skin and watched, biting her lip, as he moaned in pain.

He had gone still, so it was easy for her hand to keep the compress firmly against his skin and after a few minutes he took the handkerchief out of his mouth, his breathing heavy but not raspy. A few minutes later his shoulders slumped and his hands were no longer gripping his knees. That was good, but his Mark was burning so hotly the ice was melting, water dripping down Snape's arm in little rivers. She took it away and re-froze it again.

After fifteen minutes of this, Snape went completely limp and Lilika took the handkerchief away to look at his skin. The Dark Mark was cooling to black, only slightly green at the edges and his skin had lost the grey shade, fading back to his normal sallow colouring. His breathing was hoarse but even and he managed to lift a hand and wipe his forehead. She had been stroking his back in a clumsy attempt to take his mind off the pain, but she dropped her hand back to her lap as he straightened up. 

Snape turned his head to look at her, his face shimmering with sweat and his black eyes bright with pain. He swallowed hard. 

"You...Thank you." 

She seemed subdued and a little frightened, blue eyes wide, but she acknowledged his gratitude, afterwards turning away to stare at a point somewhere in front of her. He rubbed his left arm absently as he studied her tense profile. Miss Woodville's lips were pulled tight and her eyebrows drawn close, some of her black hair escaping its stern bun to leave shadowy wisps around her face and white neck. He decided that it was probably a good idea not to mention that he'd tried to distract himself from the pain by mentally undressing her.

"Voldemort," she said slowly, looking straight ahead. "You didn't go back to him."

"No." He wondered how far she would dare to go.

Miss Woodville drew a line in the dirt with the toe of her boot. "Why not? I mean," she amended hastily as she caught sight of the look on his face, "You would be in the perfect position as a double agent. The Headmaster could only benefit from that knowledge."

He glared at her fiercely until she turned a ripe shade of pink and bit her lip. Snape had to grudgingly admit that she looked quite charming doing it-_I'm so far gone already_-but there were more important matters at hand to be dealt with. 

"Oh, I suppose then that you would also be a good candidate for a double agent? A young girl rebelling against her family, who finally sees the light and comes to kneel, devoted, at the feet of her Lord and Master?" Her face turned a bloody crimson with rage.

"I would never!" she shouted, unmindful of the students not a hundred feet away. Her small hands clenched into claws. "Do you honestly think that I'd take up with that ass after all those years of running away? Of hiding and being hunted and seeing...seeing...I don't want to talk about this. But you're a fool for even thinking it." 

"And you think that I, after turning against him at 'great personal risk' would return? Some of us can claw their way out of that pit."

"Why did you dig the pit in the first place? Or choose to fall. Whichever."

Well, wasn't his little miss growing bold? He leaned close to her and put his mouth near her ear as she flinched and pulled a little away. "None_of_your_business," he whispered, making each word drop like a threat. "Let's just call it 'personal matters'. In regard to why I left-well, you're certainly not ever going to find that out." He could smell her lavender perfume quite clearly and had to fight away the urge to lay his nose against her neck and inhale until he was dizzy.

"To continue, even though this is also not any of your business," he said, continuing to rub his aching arm, "I never had any plans to go back to the Dark Lord. Ever. As for that double agent idea, it would be the height of foolishness. He knows I am no longer his."

"How does he? I suppose you mean that you are Headmaster Dumbledore's then?" she asked, with another sideways glance. Her lashes slowly lowered, hiding her eyes from his view.

Snape snorted. "I'm not about to tell you of our plans, but the Dark Lord knows very well that I have left him forever. To go back to him, pretending loyalty would be not only suicidal, but stupid, and I am certainly not going to do anything stupid."

Miss Woodville straightened up and turned to look him directly in the eye. "How does he know?" 

A terrier with a particularly delicious bone to knaw. He sighed. "Remember when I had told you that one of the previous Defence Against the Dark Arts professors had carried Voldemort within him?" Her lips went in and she nodded slowly, anger creasing her eyes. He could tell she was mentally replaying their tense hallway meeting. "Well, on the back of his head to be exact. Quirrell-that was his name-tried to hex Potter off his broom during a Quidditch match. I saved the boy-of course there wasn't a word of gratitude from him-and confronted Quirrell about it later, not realising that I was revealing to his other part that I had saved Potter's life deliberately. A true Death Eater..." He closed his eyes, remembering the cold shock that had gone through him at the match as he had realised what was happening and the pale blur of Potter's face as he desperately tried to hang on to his broom. It could have been over so quickly. "A true Death Eater would have let the boy fall."

She wasn't even looking at him. "I suppose..."

Anger burst inside him. "You suppose what?" he barked, turning fully to face her. But the log was empty.

His eyebrows shot up. "Miss Woodville?" A quick look around their clearing revealed nothing out of the ordinary; some trees, a few birds sitting dumpily in a tree to his right, and a large lizard was sunning itself on a rock. No Miss Woodville. Snape twisted around to look behind him and discovered the large bramble bush to his left had grown eyes.

Little incoherent mumbles were emitting from the bush, and the blue eyes were stuck wide with fear. "Oh no oh no, keep away no no no, ack ack ack..."

Snape folded his arms and gave her his best withering look. "Miss Woodville, what in the name of Merlin _are you doing?_"

More mumbling and something that might have been 'lizard'.

He glanced from the bush to the lizard, who was stretched complacency out on its rock, the tip of its tail waving every now and then. "The lizard is behaving perfectly normally for something of its kind. It's merely sunning itself. Now, what excuse do you have?"

"I kinda have a...problem...with lizards," she said in a whispered rush. 

Snape grumbled. The woman who had so coolly handled his pain was now quaking over a _lizard_. Each time there seemed to be hope for her she instead slid back once again. He sighed, then did the only thing that seemed reasonable under the circumstances; he reached into the bush, thankful for the heavy cloth of his robes, grasped Miss Woodville by the rapier points of her elbows and yanked her out. "Hey! No no no no you can't do this! Stop!"

"Don't worry, I'll chase away your scaly friend," he taunted. She was squirming fiercely in his grip, wriggling and trying to dig her way through his chest in an effort to escape. He was rather enjoying it. 

She finally gave up when she realised he was not to be moved and huddled against him, muttering softly. This was quite nice indeed. "So," he said, casting a glance at the top of her black head, "What traumatic event in your childhood caused this ridiculous phobia?" Miss Woodville looked at his chest, then at her feet, giving him an excellent view of the bun in her hair.

"Oh, you know everything, don't you?" She would not meet his eyes. He waited patiently, not once relaxing his grip on her body.

Miss Woodville capitulated. "Charles..when I was four he put a lizard in my room-a little teeny regular lizard except he cast an Enlargement Charm on it and made it into King Lizard. It was bigger then my bed. I came into the room and saw it sitting there." She went quiet for a moment then added "It bit me on the side before I could get away from it."

"And left a scar, I suppose. Your family does seem to be known for its odd fears," he said, subtly shifting his arm so it encircled her narrow waist. "As I recall, your dear brother had a deathly fear of snakes. Most unfortunate for one who followed a man whose symbol was a serpent." His distraction worked; she lifted her head and smiled, just a little. "I used to get him on that. If he bothered me, sooner or later I'd get a little garden snake and put it in his chair or by his slippers. He never quite knew when I'd strike."

A soft rustle as the branches scraped together in the breeze and a few birds called from behind. Her face was slowly tilting upward and he wanted to see her look at him but she seemed to be taking care not to look at him directly, instead focusing on the trees above, the rocks to the side-anything but his face. He grimaced. Playing shy, was she? How frustrating. She was still looking away when he felt her body suddenly tense. "What's that?" 

"What's what?" he snapped. She was standing right on top of him and yet she wouldn't pay him any attention. Miss Woodville was instead craning her neck sharply, squinting at the trees above them. What was so damn interesting? "I saw something that looked like a broom. Someone on a broom spying on us."

He bit back the sharp retort that jumped to his mouth. Was she just trying to change the subject? "Ridiculous. We're miles out in the Forbidden Forest and I did not advertise our route or destination. The only was someone could find us is if they had followed us from the start. Did you see anyone follow us Miss Woodville?"

"Nooo...but I still think I saw someone spying from a broom."

"Potter is the only one who darts around spying on people from brooms, and yet I sincerely doubt he's up there, more's the pity," he muttered and looked up at the crossing branches above them and the pale pieces of sky between them. "I see nothing. Perhaps your fear has addled your brain-not that you had far to go to begin with."

Miss Woodville's mouth made an O in outrage and she started to say something, but shut her mouth without a word, grimacing. He arched a brow at her. "Fine. You believe what you want," she murmured sullenly. For some odd reason she was looking at her hands, running a pale finger over one palm.  
She suddenly seemed to realise how close they were and pulled away, much to his displeasure. First, she peered around him to see what the lizard was doing, then cautiously edged out, wand held between stiff fingers. It must have gone. Amusement and annoyance mingled within him and Snape stifled a laugh as he turned to gather his things. "It's time for us to be heading back," he told her, shouldering his pack. "So get your things. The sun is growing low." She darted another look at the trees at his words.

"Would you stop that?" 

This time the students walked in front instead of behind, chattering quietly among themselves. Snape walked at her side, face set in his usual snarl. Lilika carried the knotty basketful of roots-and the damned things were heavy for their size-along with the left-over bags. Her feet crunched nicely into the leaves; she was pretending each one to be Snape's head. 

Snape, with the air of a very great king pronouncing a judgement on a very small person, had declared her the official baggage handler because she had dug the least roots out of the whole group, never mind that she'd been distracted with such small niceties as enormous lizards and cosseting Snape while his arm tried to burn off. When she had tried to protest, he'd pulled a sneer and told her to hold her tongue and she was damned lucky he didn't leave her behind in the Forbidden Forest for the werewolves to play with.

She kept one eye on the group and one eye on the sky, still convinced that what she had seen before was someone floating high above them on a broom, watching. Lilika uncurled her palm and looked at the faint pink line running parallel across the length of it; a souvenir of her wandless magic trick that had saved her life the last time someone on a broom had come for her. She pressed her lips together, making a mental note to check some books and do some tinkering with that spell as soon as she was able. The shielding spell would be ever so much more effective if it didn't severely burn her hands when she held the spell for more then a few minutes. 

_ Snape's Mark burns...and then someone else comes a'calling. Sure, no one followed us from the castle but who's to say Voldemort couldn't track Snape through the Mark? Still, they were here awfully quickly after the Mark burned. But wouldn't a follower of Voldemort have tried to kill us while we were away from the castle? The Killing Curse works just as well fired off from some trees as it does when the person is two feet away from you. Puzzling. I don't like this._

Snape was now walking a little ahead of her, black hood pulled over his head. He was just a shapeless blot in the growing darkness, walking steadily towards the castle.

_He won't tell me what the Headmaster has planned...still doesn't trust me, I see. Not a spy, so what are you doing, Snape? You're the one with the connection here._

The trees thinned out and the lights of Hogwarts could be seen, gleaming dimly ahead of them. Snape slipped ahead of her and told the students to hurry, that dinner was nearly served. They needed no urging to break into a run, Crabbe and Goyle moving surprisingly fast for their size. They quickly vanished into the darkness across the lawn and she and Snape were left alone.

"Pick it up, will you?" he said irritably, brushing some leaves off his cloak. "I want to eat, especially since someone else ate most of my food."

"You didn't have to give it to me," she snarled, trying her best to pass him, but he was always just a little faster then her. "I merely asked, you didn't have to do it. In fact, I was more surprised that you did give it to me-OW!"

A large tree, twisted and bent, stood right at the break between the Forbidden Forest and the Hogwarts grounds, waving its branches creakily in the wind. As she passed it, the branches suddenly swung down with a great deal of force and struck her in the face.

"Are you hurt? Let me see." Snape's warm hands cupped her face, fingers searching, and she shivered involuntarily. _Oh bloody hell, not this again...Behave! Behave damn you, behave!_

Her cheek was scratched-she could feel where the skin had parted-and blood was oozing down her forehead, which meant another cut somewhere on her head. She grumbled a sigh. The trees here didn't seem to like her very much; on her arrival at Hogwarts a tree had taken exception to her flying in and batted her down, forcing her into a crash landing that ended up with her snagged between several trees. It had not been fun.

Snape produced a rag and dampened it with water. "Tilt your head so I can clean the wounds-no, more up. Thank you."

The rag brushed gently against her cheek, which suddenly filled with hot blood and she hoped that Snape could not feel her flushing. His long fingers gripped her chin, forcing her to keep her head in place. Smooth and hot. She wondered for a minute what those fingers would feel like with a slightly more tender touch, stroking across her jaw and she was very very glad it was dark out. The moon was rising off to her left, a pale round of stone shining through the darkness. Lilika shifted her eyes to watch the moon, not really wanting to look at Snape, bent so intently over his task-the rag trailed down near her lips-so she swallowed hard and peered at the silvery light making patches on the lawn.

"You're tilting your head back too far, the blood is running towards your eyes," Snape said curtly, pulling her head back up. His fingers curled into her hair, turning her face to his. Her stomach fluttered. _Damn him, damn him, damn him. Am I under a spell? I was perfectly normal this morning._

"I was looking at the moon," she said, annoyance fully formed in every word.

"Don't look at the moon, look at me." The rag was too saturated; some water dripped down her throat, heading for her cleavage. "Oops, let me get that..." Snape murmured, first dabbing the rag down her throat, then down near her breasts. One of his long fingers brushed the swell at the top of her neckline.

Lilika jumped away and gave his hand a good smack, resisting the urge to either start shrieking at the top of her lungs or throw herself at his feet. "You're enjoying this far too much," she snapped, jerking the rag away from his hand. Snape's lip curled in response. 

"My dear, you presume far too much."

She stared at him, eyes small and hard in anger. "You were touching and seeing far too much. My presumptions grow out of your behavior and don't you forget it. You have enough faults without adding pervert to that long, long list."

She wiped at her face with the rag. Snape had turned away, his shoulders squared. "Are you quite finished, vulgar brat?"

She threw the rag at him and stalked towards the castle, stomping as she went. "So now we've degenerated to name-calling to hide our frustration. Snape, did some bits of you ever age past twelve?"

"Pretentious wench," he hissed, his longer stride bringing him to her side much more rapidly then she would have liked. "Do you think everyone adores you? A filthy vulgar slattern like yourself?"A blood vessel nearly burst inside her from fury.

Lilika punched him in the stomach before he could react, driving him to the ground. He lay flat, stunned and she knelt atop him, keeping him down with both hands on his shoulders as she stared him in the eye. His eyes were mere slits in his face, so angry was he.

"Apologise," she commanded, using her knees to pin him to the grass. She wanted him uncomfortable. "Apologise and we'll forget this ever happened."

"Not a chance," he wheezed. Apparently she'd knocked the breath out of him. Excellent. He breathed heavily for several minutes while she watched.

"Off me," he said quietly once he'd gotten his air back. His eyes glittered with the moonlight. "Get off me before I do something we'll both regret."

She chewed the inside of her lip, thinking about curses and other nasty tricks Snape might have up his long black sleeve. Snape's most dangerous mood was when he got quiet like that, but she wasn't about to submit and let him get away with anything. Unfortunately, before she could make a decision about what to do, his body heaved beneath her and she tumbled to the ground, stunned.

Snape's smirky face came into view above her, his long black hair falling against his nose. He was using a hand to hold her down as she thrashed and struggled to rise. He had simply put a long hand on her ribcage-though not near her breasts-and was more or less effortlessly keeping her down with just that one hand while she had needed her whole body weight just to keep him pinned. Infuriating. "You made a brave show, little one," he purred as she tried to break his fingers. "Pity you couldn't follow through."

"Start sleeping with one eye open, Snape!" she growled, twisting underneath his hand as he pushed her deeper into the dirt. "When you're not looking I'm going to flay you alive!"

"Really," he yawned, looking very unmoved. "I'll tell you what. You lay still and obediently accept your punishment and we'll call it even on all counts. I'll even forget you started this."

Who the hell did Snape think he was? Punishment? The very word made her blood steam. Never. Absolutely not. She strained once more against his hand. His smirk deepened and he pushed down just a little harder. Dirt was smashed into her neck.

"Say you're sorry," he demanded, holding her firm. "Say it."

"Only if you say it first!" she spat, clawing at his fingers. She managed to slice him and he yelped, using several very bad words as he did. Lilika smiled and moved to push him off her.

"Professor Snape? Professor Jardin? Why have you been out here for so long?" A small circle of light moved towards them from the castle's front doors. 

"McGonagall," Snape breathed in horror, quickly removing his hand. "Get UP!"

It was too late; McGonagall's lantern had caught them straight in its beam. Her mouth dropped open and hung there for several seconds. Lilika cursed, very quietly; Snape was staring at his feet, mouth thin with embarrassment and fury. 

"Just_ what _have you two been doing?" McGonagall demanded as soon as she could get her mouth working again. Her stare was piercing.

"Fighting," Lilika answered, springing up quickly; Snape did the same. "Just fighting. Nothing more, nothing less." McGonagall gave them a sour look, her mouth pursed and she had an expression that said quite plainly that she did not entirely believe them. Lilika tried to look perfectly innocent of anything other then fighting. Being as rumpled and dirty as she was, it wasn't hard. She could feel dirt slowly oozing down her back towards her waist and grimaced.

McGonagall watched them for several minutes in silence while her mouth took various shapes, trying to decide on an expression. "So. Fighting. Is that what they're calling it nowadays?" she finally murmured and turned away, but not before Lilika caught what looked like the beginning of a wide grin. Besides her, Snape was almost vibrating in rage. 

"Both of you return to the castle immediately," the deputy Headmistress commanded over her shoulder, robes trailing as she headed back to the castle. Lilika and Snape followed her departing figure in resentful, sullen silence.

"You talk of perverts; there's a pervert for your collection if I ever saw one, Miss Woodville," Snape muttered near her ear as they walked. " 'Is that what they're calling it nowadays'...how disgusting to even insinuate you and I would be doing anything of that sort. On the lawn, in that stinking wet grass, rutting like animals for the world to see." One corner of his mouth quirked. "I always knew she had a twisted mind."

Lilika hastily choked down a laugh. "Of course," she said, nodding her head rapidly. "How could she? Disgusting. I would never put myself on display like that."

"Nor would I," he murmured. His face looked rather flushed. 

"Never crossed my mind," she agreed. Her thighs ached.

"Impossible," they said together and shot each other a quick, confused glance. They reached the castle doors; Snape held them open for her and she dipped him a small curtsey in response. 

Once they were inside, Snape cleared his throat. "Well..."

"We should go eat?" she replied in a rush. 

"Yes," he said just as quickly. "Exactly. Time to eat now."

She and Snape separated, each taking a different route to the Great Hall and walking very fast. Once inside, they sat at opposite ends of the table and did not look at each other for the rest of the meal.

Lilika toyed with her chicken, not really tasting it.

_Snape's been funny today..I wonder.._

_No, can't be. Must be me._

She finished her chicken and put the incident out of her mind for the rest of the night. 


	11. Half

**Chibi Chibi Author's Note: Yes, I know it's strange for me to have a note up top, but since many of you were expecting this chapter to be Snape and Lilika off in London, I felt I should tell you that "Caveat Emptor" is now the next coming chapter. I had originally planned to have Snape and Lilika in London, but they had a different idea and decided to spend this chapter getting into arguments and fantasizing about each other. Remember when I said "The Gathering" was the biggest problem to write? Well, this one tops it by a mile. >. Oh, and a big cookie to any one who knows which series the title and the quote come from. ^__^ 

**Part 10: Half**

_Protecting someone is not easy to do, is it?_   
** -"namida wa shitte iru" (tears know)**

He was peering intently into the depths of a potion when she came to him. 

A light step, then silence. Then, a softer sound, one another person might mistake for a small rodent scrabbling about but which he recognised as someone setting their foot down very carefully, toe first and then heel, trying to be as noiseless as possible. A smile crept to the corner of his mouth and he stirred the cauldron a little more briskly. How silly. Didn't she realise by now that he knew every corner, every sound and every scent of his dungeons? Snape took a deep breath, smiling widely. The scent of leech juice, of frog brains, of ragweed and of lavender perfume flowing off warm, bare skin. Which one _didn't_ belong? 

Very close, almost behind him now. Her scent grew stronger and he bit his lip, hiding his smile on the inside of his mouth as he pretended to be much more interested in his potion than the stealthy figure creeping behind him. Let her come to him, let her place the first hand, give the first kiss. He'd gladly play the game with his little pet and see which of them would prove the more patient.

_I could have had you up against the wall by now, listening to you whimper in my ear. I'm sure you realise that._

Behind him at last. The rustle of a long skirt scraping the floor finally stopped as small arms wrapped around him, settling around his waist. She pressed her forehead into his back, lips moving restlessly. He didn't even twitch, calmly continuing to stir his potion. 

"Severus.." she murmured, lifting her head to his shoulder. Warm lips just barely grazed his ear as she whispered to him. One of the hands on his waist slid lower, playing with the waistband of his trousers. "Come to bed?" 

"Can't you see I'm in the middle of something?" he snapped, pulling away from her slightly. His fingers were beginning to shake. "I'm not interested at the moment." 

She merely kissed his neck in response, sending a shudder through his body that he just barely managed to conceal. The hand on his waistband moved yet lower, and he slapped a hand down on hers before she could distract him any further. 

"Go sit over there until I'm done and don't you dare try and do anything to draw my attention," he said, jerking his head towards a table at the far side of the room. "Especially anything that involves disrobing."

She stayed perfectly still for a moment, then pulled away with an angry, muttered sigh that held a curse somewhere within it and walked over to the table, stepping rather heavily as she went. Snape turned his head just enough to watch her go, making certain she did nothing more then sit at the table. She sat on the table, but it was close enough. 

Three drops of toad juice and one rat brain later his potion was finished, a grand total of fifteen minutes he'd spent waiting while he could have been occupied with much more pleasant and absorbing things. The damn thing had taken simply forever to come to a boil. Snape moved off to the sink, taking time to wash and set everything carefully away in its proper place while he watched his pretty rook out of the corner of his eyes. 

She was still on the table, swinging her feet back and forth absently, eyes on her shoes. The first few buttons of her dress had been undone, exposing a narrow swatch of pale skin; apparently she hadn't been able to completely comply with his demand to merely sit. How typical.

Once finished, he slipped up behind her and laid a hand on her slender shoulder, tracing the bony slope with a finger. She did not move.

"You're very quiet, my flower," he said, bending to her ear as he wrapped his arms more firmly around her. "Waiting so sweetly--perhaps we've finally developed some patience at last?"

Still no answer from her, not even a sigh. He ran his fingers through her loosened hair and pulled her against him, nipping the fleshy curve of her earlobe and cupping a breast firmly with his hand. Nothing, not even a squeak. 

"Are you angry because I made you wait?" he snapped, filling rapidly with frustration. "Poor you. Gods, Lily, lift your head and look at me at least--if it's not too much trouble--"

Silence. A drop of crimson splattered against the tile file near his feet and was soon joined by another.

"Liliana?"

The strands of her hair were now sodden and his fingers were suddenly wet.

"...Lily?"

The front of her gown was entirely soaked, the blood indistinguishable from the dark fabric of her dress save for the small line of white skin bared by the open buttons. Her hands were limp on the table's edge.

"Lily!"

She turned to look at him, her large eyes lightless. Blood ran from under her hair, from her mouth, her ears. She was sitting in a great crimson lake and he was drowning in her blood. It streaked his palms and ran down the front of his robes.

"Lily!"

She was bleeding to death, laying there broken and crumpled whilst her blood soaked into the dirt and he couldn't help her...

_Help me! I..I can't save her!_

I can't...I won't let this happen again!

Please help me!

*** 

Snape shuddered awake with a yell, clutching his blankets in unfeeling fingers. 

"It was a dream," he told himself hoarsely, wiping away the sweat from the back of his neck with a hand that was shaking very slightly. "Of course something would ruin what had been an otherwise agreeable fancy--"

_Blood pooling in a great crimson lake beneath her._

"A dream! Nothing more! As if I've never had nightmares before."

Of course it was nothing but a dream. There was nothing to worry about. Just one of his usual, constant, familiar nightmares. In fact, he dreamed about people dripping in blood almost every night.

_Blood soaking her long hair..._

He found himself pulling his dressing gown off the bedpost, fumbling at the ties while he yanked his wand out from underneath his pillow. It always had to be something, didn't it?

"I can't believe I'm doing this--"

The door made a very loud smacking noise as it hit the wall, but what did he care if anyone heard? 

"Over a dream--"

He strode out into the Slytherin corridors and walked quickly down the hallway. Heaven help any fools stupid enough to be up at this hour. He wanted no disturbances and no witnesses.

It took him three tries to get the passage to Ravenclaw to open for him.

"Over a foolish girl--"

He stalked up the steps two at a time.

"I'm a fool--"

More quietly, he opened the door that lead out to Ravenclaw Tower and her room, casting a cautious eye about before exiting the passage. He'd have a hard time explaining to Flitwick and Sinistra, or worse, that obnoxious upstart of a ghost, why exactly the Head of Slytherin was sneaking into Ravenclaw at this time of morning.

"There's nothing wrong," Snape muttered to himself as he crossed to her door and began to ease it open ever so gently lest she hear a creak and wake. "She'll be sleeping, and I'll have come all this way for nothing. She'll be sleeping, she'll be angry when I wake her up, she'll be fine--"

There was just enough of an opening for him to put a eye against the door and peer inside. As soon as his eyes adjusted enough for him to see what lay inside, he stopped breathing. 

Her bed was neatly made up and quite empty, the blankets smooth. One of the casements windows had been opened ever so slightly and her curtains were bobbing in the breeze.

"Miss...my...Lil...Miss Woodville?" he stammered, his hands gone very cold. A horrible, sickening fright twisted his stomach. How could she...Where could she...

"Where are you?" he whispered, his mouth gone quite dry. 

*** 

The sun was almost completely up by the time she returned to Hogwarts. Lilika banked sharply to avoid the protruding lower branches of the trees that ringed the castle and came to a bumping stop on the damp grass, nearly slipping off her broom. She stepped off, grumbling and batted a few pieces of vegetation off her skirt. Her knees hurt from having to keep them pressed tightly together lest she expose a bit too much; ordinary clothing was not really suited for riding on brooms.

Lilika shouldered her broom and began the trek back to the castle, taking very small, careful steps. It was bad enough that she had to practically get up at the crack of dawn in order to keep Snape from realising she was sneaking out without having to slide along wet grass while doing it. "My life is never simple. It's always going to be something--" 

Quick, sharp footsteps were cracking the leaves behind her; she whipped her head around but not quickly enough. A hand clamped onto her arm, yanking her back and she screamed before she could stop it.

"WHERE THE HELL HAVE YOU BEEN?!" Hands slammed down on top of her shoulders, knocking the breath out of her body. Snape's furious face was suddenly right against hers, eyes wild with anger and stubble darkening his cheeks."You'd better have a damned good explanation for your absence," he added, his voice dropping to a low, ugly whisper. 

Lilika felt her mouth fall open and it refused to shut for several seconds. _Damn. I knew sooner or later he would find out, but why is he so angry? _

"Well? I'm waiting," he spat, giving her a little shake. "How could you run off like that? Don't you _think_?" Snape's eyes were bloodshot, crawling with thin red veins and his pupils were small and hard.

She was chilled, tired and frightened from his sudden appearance and rage spread swiftly through her body, searing her veins like a hot knife. Again. Always something. 

"I was at church," she replied shortly, twisting out of his grip and walking away towards the castle. He followed, of course, black cloak swirling around his ankles. The slimy git hadn't even dressed; under his cloak he was wearing a faded grey nightshirt and a half-open black dressing gown that had frayed at the hem. 

"Church?" he said slowly, lips shaping each syllable. "Church where?"

"London."

"You _went to London_?"

"Don't shriek like that; you sound like a hysterical old woman." 

"How long--how long has this been going on?"

"Since I came, obviously."

"SINCE YOU CAME?"

She kicked at his ankles furiously. "I told you not to scream like that!"

"Church in London," he said, in a half dazed and almost amused sort of way. "All this for church in London."

She was growing quite tired of this and hungry besides.

"Yes. Church in London. While we're playing Twenty Questions, where's your explanation, Snape? You're wandering about half-dressed, in the middle of winter, with only slippers on your feet--quite ugly slippers they are and your feet aren't pretty either--and you're going about shaking me like a rag doll? Since when did you start checking up on me this early in the morning? Make it quick now, mind you." 

His face changed slightly, from anger to confusion and back to anger in an eyeblink. 

"You are not to be out on your own, not to be out alone, especially not to be away from Hogwarts and for something as frivolous as church in London," he spat. "There's a chapel in Hogsmeade you could go to much more easily." He stamped his foot impatiently as he finished and a shudder racked his thin frame; apparently it was becoming too cold even for him. "Come inside, Miss Woodville, breakfast is waiting. We can discuss this later." He grabbed her by the elbow and began leading her towards the castle with a slow, steady pull.

Lilika dug in her heels and resisted, tugging her elbow out of his grasp. "Since when were you the one making my decisions? You just don't understand anything, do you?" she ground out, feeling several veins pound new seams into her skin from anger. "I am not to be manhandled about like a child--and as for the chapel in Hogsmeade, I'm sure it's very nice, but I've been going to my church in London for ten years. I buried my father and sister in that church! I'm not about to change now on your say-so, and if you don't like it, then too damn bad!"

His face twisted into a sneer and with a swift twist, he grabbed her once more and brought her much too close to his body, his bony fingers clutching her upper arm. 

"You don't seem to understand," he said quietly. "May I remind you that your safety is my responsibility? My duty? You could have died hundreds of times over without my knowledge and how do you think that makes me feel? Gadding off to London unnecessarily while I remained oblivious. That will not continue. Obviously, I will have to keep a closer watch on you--"

"You will not." Lilika stumbled in the wet grass. Snape pulled her onward, heedless. 

"I will too," he said, the beginnings of a smug grin at the corners of his lips. "You, Miss Woodville, will only go out when I accompany you."

"Why don't you just come with me to London then, you smug git?" she yelled at the back of his head. 

Snape gave her the patient, long suffering look of a parent once again correcting a child who was not very bright. "As I am not a church-goer, such a trip for me would be entirely wasted. And London is too far."

"Not a church-goer, I'm not surprised," she muttered bitterly, so angry she was swerving all over the place. "Something as tainted as you would probably burst into flames the minute you set foot on holy ground--"

Snape yanked away from her and she slipped backwards with a yelp, caught off balance by his sudden action. Lilika landed hard on her back and blinked up at the blue shimmer of the sky, stunned. 

"So this is how you repay my fear and concerns," Snape said in a low, flat voice. "It frightened me when I discovered you gone. Are you pleased? I was afraid for you. Happy? And this is how you repay me. By calling me a thing and comparing me to a demon. Miss Woodville, I like to think I've come further then that."

He walked out of her line of sight, leaving her on her back in the grass as his feet crunched away towards the castle. 

*** 

She managed to keep from crying until she was safely inside her room with the door shut fast behind her.

It wasn't fair, she thought, sniffling and gulping back her tears in noisy, painful swallows. He'd appeared out of nowhere and frightened her, yelled at her, pulled her about like a toy and here she was crying because she felt bad about one stupid little remark. The collar of her dress was soaked in tears and she tasted salt each time she swallowed.

Damn the bastard to hell, at least for a little while. She wasn't going to apologise though, no, not all. Not even a little bit. He had it coming to him. She'd apologise when he got down on his knees and groveled for all the wrongs he'd ever done her.

That made her smile, a little bit.

She still felt horrible though.

Lilika curled up in her blankets, resting one hand on her stomach. Her eyes felt swollen and hot from crying. Not only did she feel terrible, she was afraid--actually afraid--of having to face Snape again.

What a weak, stupid girl she'd become.

_I can't even feel safe apologising--if I suddenly went 'soft', Snape would pounce on my weakness as gleefully as a cat on fish..._

"Better just to avoid him for a while," she whispered to herself. "It's just easier that way." 

*** 

Snape rapped sharply on the door to Miss Woodville's bedroom, making his knuckles sting.

"She's sleeping," the Grey Lady said shortly, biting off a transparent, silvery strand of thread. She was sitting--or more accurately hovering--directly across from Miss Woodville's bedroom, hands busy with some sort of fancy work. 

"Is she now?" he sneered, very tempted to just throw the bedroom door open and look. This cat and mouse game Miss Woodville was currently leading him through was rapidly becoming more tiresome then pleasurable. Why was he bothering with her again?

The soft skin, the dry and somewhat musky scent of the lavender she used, the long black hair and small, round breasts...so she had physical charms. It didn't change the fact that she was acting like a bothersome little brat.

He became uncomfortably aware that he was staring off into space, eyes wide and vacant, and quickly shifted his expression back to his usual sneer. The ghost watched him with large, steady eyes for a moment, then her gaze fell back to the cloth she was embroidering, the needle moving slowly in and out of the grey fabric. "Don't bother her."

Don't bother her. The Grey Lady did persist in treating him as something Miss Woodville should be defended against. He snorted and rolled his eyes, though the ghost was pointedly not paying attention to him. "Sleeping at three o' clock in the afternoon?"

"Her last class was very tiring," the Grey Lady said, unruffled. One foot slowly swung back and forth under her skirt. "Many of the students are behind in their work."

If that woman wasn't incorporeal, he would be throttling her about now. Snape and the Grey Lady both knew perfectly well that Miss Woodville's last class happened to be the Slytherin third-years. Well, he'd ignore the slight for now; it wasn't as important as actually finding a way to see Miss Woodville face to face. He ground his teeth together for a moment, thinking. How to get past Miss Woodville's insufferable guardian? "I need to talk to her about a debt she owes me."

"It can wait until she awakens. Assuming, that is, that she will want to talk."

The damn ghost guarded Miss Woodville better then a dragon guarded its treasure and it was slowly but surely driving him insane. The Grey Lady seemed immune to intimidation, threats, and taunts and Snape was quickly running through his repertoire trying to find a way to outwit her. His lip twisted.  
He would not give up so easily; the ghost-girl might have tenacity but he had endless patience, the prospect of a long-awaited prize sweetened by much frustration if he should succeed and nothing better to do except wait. So he stepped right in front of the ghost, folded his arms and darkened his scowl. Not even a twitch.

"Since when did you become her mother?" he hissed, winding his hands into his robes to keep from throwing himself on her and impaling himself on the chair in the process. The Grey Lady raised an eyebrow and half-smiled at her lap. "Someone has to watch out for her," she murmured delicately, making another stitch, "and I seem to be best at the job."

"Then you can watch as I talk to her." He stomped over and drew one of the chairs that lined the common room over to Miss Woodville's door, sat in it with a thump, and folded his hands in his lap. The ghost's smile faded slightly and she bent back over her work once more, lips curiously rigid. Snape took note of the change in her expression and a pleasant rush of gratification warmed his entire body. He had been right, of course; _something_ was going on. Miss Woodville could not hide from him forever.

However, she'd been doing a damn good job of it these past few days, he thought sourly. It was the same story over again, worn thin by telling--she's resting, she's just stepped out, I'm afraid she's not here. The girl slipped through the hallways like her transparent watchdog, somehow managing to duck away and vanish without a trace even when he was no more then a few feet away. The rare times he had managed to keep pace with her he'd spent staring at the narrow line of her back, whilst the few words she'd bothered to throw him were cold, clipped, and oh-so-polite. Treating him like a stranger. Acting like she didn't care. 

Obviously she was still angry at him, and while this bothered him intensely for a day or so, his anger quickly faded into heated annoyance when faced with the fact that Miss Woodville would not let go of her hurt feelings so easily. Arrogant, bothersome, wretched little...monster. He wound his hands more tightly together. How dare she be so pompous? She was the one completely in the wrong for sneaking out like that--and she'd been doing it for months! Snape always felt a creeping chill through his blood whenever he thought about how easily something could have happened to her and he would not have known. Damn her for doing this to him. She could have ended up the toy of Death Eaters, she could have ruined the Headmaster's trust in him, she could have been...

"London? Whyever would you want to go all the way to London?"

A soft laugh came from Sinistra's room. "Because that's where the shopping is," a familiar voice murmured happily and then laughed in turn. He whipped around and stared hard at the Astronomy Professor's door, then at the Grey Lady, who had the decency to blush deep silver. She was with _Sinistra_? Sinistra was considered a more suitable companion then him?

"Sleeping, eh?" he growled. "I _sincerely_ hope you didn't mean she was sleeping over in _Sinistra's_ room!"

The ghost stared at her lap, embroidery left to one side. "No, they're just playing chess," she muttered, quietly enough for him to have trouble hearing her.

"I truly hope so," he snapped, standing up and giving his chair a good kick to get it out of his way. Wood splintered under his foot. "Because if I find out anything is going on--"

A door creaked open down the corridor and Miss Woodville slipped out of Sinistra's room, smiling widely with her cheeks flushed rose pink with laughter. The instant she caught sight of him, standing with his hands clenched into fists at his sides, the laughter slipped from her face and her gaze went leaden and compressed.

How long they stood there watching each other, he had no idea. Snape wanted to speak first, to ask her what she had been doing with the Astronomy professor, to yell and snap and ask why she was avoiding him, why she was still angry, why he never saw that wide, gleeful smile.

Her blue eyes looked so impassive...

Sinistra stepped out in the hallway and shut the door, then came quietly forward after watching them for a few moments with an eyebrow raised crookedly.

"Miss Woodville," Snape said quite calmly, though a terrific weight had settled somewhere on his chest, making speech difficult, "I wish to speak to you."

"Speak then," she said quietly. Her lips were set in a prim, narrow line and she made no move to come any closer.

He was terribly aware of their audience and nearly certain that both the Grey Lady and the Astronomy Professor would like to see him as far away from Miss Woodville as possible. "I meant in private," he snapped, before he could stop himself. A smile pricked the corners of her mouth in response.

"Private?" she said, a dry laugh lurking somewhere in her voice. "What on earth could you possibly have to say to me that can't be said in front of the Grey Lady and Professor Sinistra?" Miss Woodville's entire face was covered in a dreadful mirth, but her eyes looked almost...frightened...

Bile rose in the back of his throat. This fear of hers was completely puzzling and not pleasing to him at all. Where did this girl come off being afraid of him? Acting as though he was yet another thing sent from the unknown to ruin her life? Let her manage, let her endure the many little things that had picked and torn and cracked him to pieces and now _this_, now _her_, now this horrible attraction that would not leave him in peace...

"Snape?" He put a hand to his forehead and looked down; Miss Woodville was peering up at him as if he was mad. She stepped forward at last, her face tight with uncertainty. "What's the matter?"

This was not going to go any further, or else he'd explode. "Inside," he said curtly, opening her bedroom door with one hand and beckoning her inside with the other. "Talk. Now. No excuses."

A twinge of anger settled over the fear on Miss Woodville's face and she looked almost normal for a second. "Well, since you put it *that* way," she muttered and swept inside, waiting until he had followed before she slipped behind him and shut the door.

Her room was dim and cool, the curtains pulled tight against the windows. "What is this all about?" she asked, voice harsh as she turned away from him to pace up and down the narrow strip of carpet by the bed. "Why were you standing there, making a scene like that?"

"What's the matter?" he asked mockingly, still in place by the door. _Coming closer might make her too nervous._ "Afraid of looking bad in front of Sinistra? You do know about the dear Astronomy Professor's unusual...tendencies, don't you?"

Miss Woodville stopped pacing and stared at him, eyebrows pulled in. "What are you talking about?"

Snape smirked and pretended to adjust his cuff, drawing a finger lazily along it. Her eyes followed the movement. "Sinistra has, shall I say, a predilection for young girls." He watched with great pleasure and not a little amusement the shock that greeted his little announcement; Miss Woodville was gaping at him, her body gone completely stiff, and her hand white-knuckled where it gripped the bedpost.

She remained silent and he could almost see her mind turning the information over and pulling it about, trying to see if there was a hidden trick somewhere. "You don't mean that Sinistra has a _thing_ for students, do you?" she asked, a bit tentatively, some minutes later. 

_A thing for the students? My, what a perverse mind you have, my dear._ He smiled, then immediately adjusted his face into a look of resigned disgust and sighed. "Idiot. Don't you think Sinistra would have been sacked by now if that were the case? I meant, foolish girl, for young women such as yourself." 

Her tiny fists clenched. "Well, maybe if you stopped calling me _a girl..._"

More anger, more temper, better and better. "Miss Woodville, as fascinating as this discussion is, I did not come all the way here to discuss the Astronomy Professor's love life. I need to ask you something." She flinched.

"What about?" she said, a nervous jump in her voice nearly blotting out the middle of her words. Miss Woodville was beginning to twitch again--_not good_--and this sudden show of nerves was irritating him to no end. "Well, it seems I've found another way for you to discharge some of the the debt you still owe me."

She was pacing again, skirts swishing crisply against the floor. "Did you now? I thought I took care of that in the Forbidden Forest." Her turns were sharper, her steps heavier and more agitated and her feet were wearing a tread in the carpet. Snape snorted in response.

"Oh please, you were practically useless in the Forbidden Forest," he sneered, leaning against her door. His back was beginning to ache and he wondered just how long this might take. "Not to mention how much extra debt you created for yourself when you pulled that little stunt with the Sleeping Potion..."

Miss Woodville bit down hard on her lip and glared at him, small face pinched red with anger. "If you don't think that you still hold an obligation to me, I'd be happy to take the matter to the Headmaster and let him decide for us," he added, and yawned.

The girl stopped her frenetic pacing at the nightstand, this time facing away from him, and folded her arms tightly around her body, her shoulders hunching up in response. "Fine," she said coolly, and turned back towards him, face composed and indifferent. "After all, I keep my promises--so, what do you want me to do?"

"I have a larger workload then usual and I want you to help me grade papers," he said, noting the slight twitch of relief that came into her eyes at his words. _You really think the worst of me, don't you?_ "Will you come?"

"Tonight? I have my own work too--"

He raised an eyebrow and half-turned, placing one hand on the doorknob. "My work was interrupted because of you, mind." The girl's face was dark with a kind of angry resignation. "Will you come?"

A small shudder of hesitation went through her body, but she looked directly at him. "Yes." 

*** 

She'd been too nervous to say anything as Snape led her down to his office. He'd beckoned her curtly inside, pointed at a chair, told her to sit and left the room for a minute, returning with an enormous stack of parchment, which he then dropped in front of her. "Start."

"Ahhh..." Just what did he expect from her anyway? He hadn't exactly been specific about what he wanted graded, the stack was over her head and well...to be perfectly honest...

Snape was impatiently twirling a quill between his long fingers, occasionally tearing at the brownish tip with a quick, savage tug. "What's the matter now?"

"I don't know--what I mean is that I was never taught--" For God's sake, she was very close to blushing and stammering, but as she was about to have the one weakness in her otherwise formidable education exposed, she felt perfectly justified in being more then a little jumpy. Potions had been her worst subject, to the point where if she had even looked at a cauldron the wrong way, something would explode. 

Had she known then that the man who would become her biggest adversary would also happen to be one of the most gifted Potion brewers in the entire Wizarding world, she would have put a little more effort into the subject. Lilika rested her chin on her hand and sighed, blowing a stray hair off her face. Not only was Snape strongest where she was weak, he simply delighted in seizing upon any failing of hers and using it against her in any way he could. And, in a stroke of diabolical genius, he'd set her a task which would probably end up exposing her complete deficiency in that subject. 

Snape will be thrilled, she thought bitterly. Best Christmas present he ever had. 

"Anything about Undectable Poisons, do you?" Snape finished, with a very smug look of satisfaction all over his thin, greasy face. "I thought so. Therefore, Miss Woodville, you will just be checking for spelling and grammatical errors; I will grade the actual content. Now, begin."

He reached across his desk, dipped a quill in red ink and handed it to her, their fingers brushing slightly in passing. The area of contact on her hand promptly began to grow warm and itch, leaving Lilika rubbing at it furiously for several minutes whilst Snape stared at her as if she were a lunatic. Lovely. Evidently, her little problem hadn't gone anyway; she could already feel her heart beating faster against the wall of her ribs and her breath was coming much more quickly.

Besides her, Snape was picking up a few parchments and making small contemptuous noises to himself, already glorying in his pupils' mistakes. She chanced a look at him, just to see if he'd had any reaction to that slight brush, but he was squinting at a essay and seemed ignorant of anything remarkable happening.

_I could just be allergic to him_, she mused, picking up the first parchment. _Making me itch like that--it's practically the same as hives, ne?_ It wouldn't be that odd, really--the man did use a lot of chemicals and strange things in his work and maybe she wasn't allergic to him really, but something he used...

"What are you staring off into space for? Get to work!"

Damnit, he was_ really lucky_ there wasn't anything large and heavy nearby. Her unease at being with him had mostly vanished, to be replaced with her more typical reaction of acute annoyance. 

Yet she still felt a bit flushed and feverish. All the blood in her body seemed to have pooled in her cheeks and throat, giving the skin there a smouldering feeling and probably turning it pink as well. Bright pink. Pink so bright it would shine through the darkness. God, she hated him.

Lilika took up her quill with a sigh and decided with gloomy resignation that things couldn't possibly get any worse. That thought had barely passed before Snape hitched his chair right next to hers and sat down with a loud grumble and a thump. Now they were sitting nearly shoulder-to-shoulder, close enough for the stiff fabric of his robes to brush her arm every time he moved slightly. Panic sparked behind her eyes.

_Why is he sitting practically on top of me? Oh, bad image, bad image...I can't concentrate with him sitting right here. I'll just have to sneak away quietly._

She took a deep breath, coughed, then quietly tried to move her chair aside, covering the movement with another cough. 

"Miss Woodville, stop fidgeting."

Obviously that wasn't going to work. She picked up the parchment again, let out a series of whispered curses, and began making marks. After a little time passed and her stack of completed scrolls grew somewhat higher, she discovered why Snape had decided to sit so close; not because his motivations were less than pure, but so he could hang over her shoulder and hiss remarks in her ear.

"You missed that over there, how could you let that mistake go past? You're going to let him get away with that horrible sentence construction? Miss Woodville, do you really think this paper deserves no marks?" On and on. His narrow black eyes watched every little notation her quill made on the parchment and each mark was punctuated by some slur from him. Snape's sharp shoulder was digging into her side as he leaned over her, but he scarcely seemed to notice her discomfort.

"Pitiful. You are far too lenient. A paper like that should have been burned in the owner's face," he rasped, his warm breath tickling her ear with each word. Snape's scent was quite distinct this close; sharp like pepper and bitter as wormwood with an acrid twist mixed in with everything else, almost as if he'd been smoking himself in front of a large fire. It wasn't unpleasant in the slightest.

"Honestly, why did I bother with you?"

Lilika was having a bit of trouble breathing and the entire right side of her body felt as if it was being slowly charred into bits. She gripped her quill as tightly as she could with shaking fingers, nearly snapping it in two as Snape brushed up against her and whispered another taunt. Her stomach clenched and her legs went shaky; what exactly was wrong with her? It felt rather like she had been drinking a large quantity of bad wine. Attracted to him? So she hadn't had a lover in years, that wasn't an excuse. Intolerable situation, impossible man. She stood up abruptly, accidently bumping Snape's chin with her elbow and skipped backward a few steps, hugging herself. Why did it have to be so cold down here?

Snape rose also, scowling. "Miss Woodville, what are you--"

"Leaving!" she snapped, striding away towards the door. "I can't take this. You say you need me, then you do nothing but insult me and I'm freezing to death and itchy just from sitting next to you and it's unbearable. I'm sick of it and I really don't feel like being around you; so, goodnight."

The Potions Master looked both confused and disgusted for a few minutes, his eyebrows up while his mouth remained in a sour sneer. "You're making no sense as usual," he said, crossing over to where she was standing and staring down at her. Lilika wanted to take another few steps back but she didn't want it to seem like she was frightened of him. Stay and look or step back and be weak--there really weren't any good alternatives, she decided grimly. So they stood and watched each other's faces for a time, until Snape grumbled something under his breath, reached for the grimy silver clasp of his cloak and began to unfasten it.

_Oh._ Her eyes popped open so wide they began to hurt. _He had better not be doing what I think he might be doing... or else I'll have to use the Cruciatus Curse on him._ She shut her eyes and counted to ten as something heavy and scratchy was draped over her shoulders, swallowing her whole. What did Snape think he was doing? Nothing more happened except for some tugging and twisting, so she opened her eyes and blinked, getting a good view of the part in Snape's oily hair as he struggled to fasten the material at her throat. "Is that better?"

The wool was coarse but warm and smelled exactly like him. She pulled the material more tightly around her and tried to puzzle out this gesture--was he up to something? _Snape must expect a repayment for this favour._ Well, she wasn't going to be so easily bent. "You've only corrected one part of the problem, try again."

Snape's lips went in, nearly disappearing off his face and a vein in his temple began to pound as his face twitched, smoothed out, then went rigid again. "I should have expected you to be ungrateful," he muttered. "And yet--Tell me plainly, Miss Woodville, are you still angry with me?"

"Bright boy," Lilika said acidly, shifting the folds of his cloak so they didn't pull so heavily at her back. If she toppled because of the weight of all this material she was going to kill him. "There's hope for you yet."

His shoulders jerked, but his voice came out as a silky whisper. "Still holding a grudge."

"Snape, you show up and rage at me unexpectedly one morning after church, making me completely paranoid about people coming up behind me for the next few days. Then you show up in Ravenclaw, threaten me, insinuate that I don't have a sense of honour, drag me down here and then proceed to taunt me and tell me I'm worthless."

"I never said you were worthless!" he said furiously.

She took another deep breath next to the folds of the cloak, finding his scent strangely enjoyable. "What other impression was I supposed to get from your words? I already know that you think everyone at Hogwarts is nowhere near as brilliant as the great Potions Master, but indulge me a bit. Do you have even the smallest bit of respect for me anywhere in that gaunt body? I know you don't like me and I don't like you, but if you think you can just dominate me without a protest--"

"Heaven forfend that Liliana Woodville should listen to any whims other then her own," Snape broke in, his face the colour of old candle wax. "Severus Snape is a selfish controlling bastard because he was doing his job, exactly as he was told, to protect Miss Liliana, who ran to Hogwarts for protection and then goes off to willingly exposed herself to danger time and time again, just because she wanted to."

Her eyes were burning. "Shut up."

Snape leaned forward and stared directly into her face, his black eyes gleaming. "And this girl--who is the most infuriating mixture of cold-hearted bitch and flighty airhead--doesn't even notice that Severus Snape has other things to worry about besides her foolish hide, like making sure Famous Harry Potter makes it through another year when Snape himself isn't even sure he'll make it through the year. Do you understand now?" His greasy face was stuck all over with self-righteous triumph. 

She struggled to find words through a throat that was parched with outrage. "Do you think you're the only one who suffers, Snape? You don't think that I've had it just as hard as you, if not worse? You CHOSE to become a Death Eater, you chose to make your own problems. I was born into a family I wouldn't have touched with a twenty-foot pole otherwise and I had my problems thrust upon me. I came here to escape and you didn't make things any easier! Letting me know right from the start you wanted me gone, that you thought of me as an hindrance and evil besides. I'm sorry that you have such a difficult life but _stop taking it out on me_, for God's sake. Or at least hate me as an equal instead of treating me as one of your dimmer students."

Snape's thin face was twisted with malice as he stared at her, his eyes narrowed to such a point she was surprised he could still see. He wore an expression of undeniable hatred and a shiver shook her body before she could stop it.

"What do I have to do to make you understand that you are the one in the wrong here?" he whispered, one of his hands coiling slowly into a fist, then back out again. "You are the most arrogant, vindictive little wench that I have ever had the misfortune to meet! Your goddamn pride has nothing to do with this matter; the point is that you were WRONG to sneak out, WRONG in flouting the guidelines the Headmaster had set for you and you can't accept that! You fled here to escape yet you slip back into the world you ran from every damned week!"

A kind of buzz was constricting her throat, making speech completely impossible. Snape took her silence for disdain and slowly, the same horrible smile he had worn when her golem attacked spread across his face.

"Is that not enough to convince you, Lady Woodville?" he said in a low purr, but his eyes were beginning to look wild. "You stand there and stare at me--say something, damn you! I even apologised to you when I was wrong before, so WHY CAN'T YOU DO THE SAME FOR ME?" By his last words his face was entirely crimson and veins snaked prominently over his forehead.

She stood in a kind of dazed timidity and watched, mute, as the Potions Master stormed away, his footsteps clattering harshly on the old tile beneath. He was breathing very quickly and his next words came out on a kind of gasping rush. 

"You'll never have any consideration for my feelings; never be grateful for what I do. If you didn't want my cloak, why didn't you refuse to take it? I trudged the grounds in the dead of winter _in my nightclothes_ looking for you and all you can do is be angry at me." A bitter, choking laugh came from him. "I thought you were different, that you might just have a brain, but it seems you're just another Potter."

_Go to him. Do something, apologise, take the blame, just do something._ Her feet stayed as still as if she had been plastered into the floor.

_You know he's right, he has a point, go to him. Say something, idiot._

Lilika took a deep hard breath. "Snape..."

He had been staring at one of his larger pickled animals; when she spoke, he let out a shaking sigh and his shoulders tensed. "Get out."

"What?"

Snape abruptly pulled away from where he had been standing and walked quickly across the room, his steps echoing briskly. "I said get out. Are you stupid?"

"Why? What about the essays--?"

He was at his desk, yanking his chair back so violently the wood made a long wailing screech as it scraped the floor. "I'm quite capable of handling it on my own. Now, leave Miss Woodville. I don't think I can deal with you at this moment."

So that was that; she had been dismissed. A strange feeling was flooding through her; it was a cold and murky kind of feeling, almost like she had been standing in the middle of thick fog. Dismissed. Sent away because she was stupid and loathsome, it seemed.

Or because he wanted to be a brat and pout and sulk on his own. Neither way appealed to her.

"I'm not leaving." Her voice seemed very small.

Snape was hunched over a parchment, slashing remarks on it so violently the ink flew off the paper and splattered thickly against the desk. He dipped his quill again. "You most certainly are."

"I'm not leaving until we settle this," she repeated quietly.

He threw his essay down and stared at the top of his desk for a moment, then lifted his head to glare at her. "Miss Woodville, if I have to throw you out bodily, I most certainly will," he sneered, voice dripping with greater venom then usual.

Lilika groaned, more out of disgusted familiarity then anything else. It always came back down to threats with him. "Snape, if I have to affix myself to the floor with a Binding Charm, I will. I am not leaving this room until we talk. DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?" She swallowed, then added, "See I can yell just as loud as you if needs be." The Potions Master fixed her with a stony look, drummed his fingers across the edge of his desk for a moment, then picked up a small knife and began to sharpen his quill.

"Fine. Talk," Snape said coldly, his thin, blue-veined hands busy with cutting and scraping, whilst he gave her a look that told she was about as welcome as a cauldron melting. "You won't mind if I don't listen, do you?"

She squinched her eyes shut until she saw a few orange bursts of light and some pale green lines and then slowly opened them again.

"You scream and rant and rave about how you want my heartfelt apology, but then you turn around and act like a three-year-old when I'm about to give you one," Lilika began, trying to keep from hurling something at his face. Screw his suffering, he liked being difficult. She was nearly certain of this.

She took a few steps closer to his desk, watching him carefully the whole time. He was industriously hacking away at his quill, but his head was tilted marginally to the side and Lilika could swear that his eyes flickered once or twice in her direction.

"Snape. You're bloody obnoxious at the best of times, but you're even worse when we fight. Please, look at me."

His gaze skipped lightly over her face and he bent down again, greasy hair forming a shield in front of his face. "That's not what I meant!" 

He laid the quill aside--it had been cut down to a nub--and picked up another.

"You're cold and arrogant and claim all the world's suffering is on your shoulders."

Silence from across the desk.

"On the other hand, you are completely right about my behavior being out of line. I know you don't like me, but I don't want you thinking that I'm too stupid to see the folly of my ways when it's so bluntly pointed out to me."

The only sound was the soft rasp of metal against horn.

"Please forgive me."

Another quill was put aside and a fresh one picked up. His hands trembled imperceptibly.

"Snape, I was wrong."

The new quill was quickly dispatched into a small mound of feathery bits and cream-coloured shavings.

"I'm sorry. For sneaking out and especially for making that comment to you. I didn't want to hurt you that badly."

Nothing, just the flick of his fingers against the knife and a growing mass of fuzz drifting in the air.

Lilika felt her shoulders sag and puffed a short, weary sigh. She waited to see if he would have any reaction to her words, but he was still playing with his knife and his quills, acting as if she were invisible or an ordinary and unremarkable part of the room like a bottle. She had done her part and if he was going to be haughty and unmoved by it all, then better to let him sulk in peace. He could come to her and beg forgiveness for his nasty conduct on his own damn time. Quietly, she walked to the door and pulled it open.

"Miss Woodville, please wait."

Wasn't that unexpected. She paused, but placed one foot outside his office, shifting her weight to the outside foot. Snape was still whittling his quill, his eyes on the knife and his voice was calm and steady.

"I understand you wish to go to London."

"How'd you know?" she asked, sticking her head and upper body out the door to check for any hallway stragglers. There were none. 

"When you were in Sinistra's room talking?"

"Un," she acknowledged with a nod and looked back over her shoulder. "What about it?"

He finally put the knife down and folded his hands together on the dark wood of the desk's top. "If you want to go, I will accompany you."

So, was that the matter Snape had been so busy pondering he couldn't answer her before? "I'll think about it."

"Please consider it, Miss Woodville." He hesitated for a moment, then added, in a much lower tone, "As my way of making amends for some of my behavior."

Apparently, you only received one outright apology per lifetime from him. "If you want to come with me, then you're welcome to."

"I need to do some Christmas shopping, after all," he muttered, as if to himself, then looked straight at her. His eyes were sunken and red-rimmed from the late hour and his hair hung even more limply around his face then usual.

Lilika slid her foot back inside the door and frowned. She had been seized with a sudden impulse to go to Snape, force him to get up and forget about the sodding papers, go to his room and go straight into bed. So he could sleep. He looked so tired after all and his eyes were smudged with dark blots that made it seem as if his eyes took up almost half his face. "I'll talk to you tomorrow and set the details. Meanwhile, you should go to sleep."

Snape smiled quickly; it looked more like a grimace. "If only everything were that simple." He gently laid a parchment aside and reached for another.

"You really don't look well. How much do you sleep, anyway? Am I going to have to come down here before we go to London to make sure you sleep? If you pass out on the streets of London from lack of rest, I'm going to leave you there."

"Goodnight, Miss Woodville."

"Goodnight." 

*** 

She'd taken his damn cloak with her.

Finding Muggle clothing to wear had been a bother, leading to a deep and through search of his wardrobe. At the very back of his closets, balled up in a corner and covered with years of dust-bunny leavings, he'd finally found some trousers and an old shirt he'd had for some reason or other long ago. After washing them throughly, putting them on and staring at himself in amazed disgust for a long time---_Miss Woodville is very fortunate I'm not vain about my looks_---Snape had hastily shoved his normal robes on over the Muggle stuff and stalked up to her rooms. 

Underneath his robes, his skin was itching from the unfamiliar fabric, not to mention that he felt like a stuffed pasty from wearing so many layers. It was necessary of course; he could just imagine what the students would say and snicker if they saw him wearing Muggle clothing. He mentally added another tick to the long list of favours she owed him. Miss Woodville needed to start her repayment soon, else she'd be doing it for the rest of her life. 

He rapped sharply on her door; why wasn't she out here and ready yet? "Miss Woodville?"

"Yes?" she sang from somewhere inside and to the left.

"Are you ready?" he snapped, fighting the urge to shuck his robes in the middle of the hallway. It was becoming uncomfortably warm with all this material stuck to his body and he wanted to be outside, in the pleasantly cold air, and as far away from witnesses as possible. Damn the woman and damn himself. All because he'd felt a twinge of guilt for making her upset, when he'd had every right to make her upset in the first place, but she _had_ apologised and looked almost pretty doing it...

The door opened silently and Miss Woodville stuck her head out, squinting at him, one small hand curled around the door's edge. Her hair was bound in a long braid down her back and her glasses were off--and was she still wearing her nightdress? Snape glanced down and saw bare feet, toenails painted violet and a white ruffle somewhere about her ankles. "You're not even dressed!"

"Oh, it takes me two seconds," she said mildly as she narrowed her eyes and wrinkled her nose; trying to get a better look at his face, he guessed. She must have not liked what she saw, for she gulped loudly and vanished back into her room, shutting the door with a clap. He chuckled.

A quick look around the common room revealed the chair he had used before to sit by her room, so he grabbed it, placed it to the side of the door and sat, trying to find a way to cross his legs so his Muggle clothing wouldn't be revealed if his robes hitched up. It was rather early for any of the students to be up, but he wanted to take no chance and that damned ghost never slept...

There was a muted crinkle and a light swishing sound from behind the door, as if cloth was being pulled over a dark head and thrown aside. Snape sat quite still, then slouched down in his chair, the soft sound somehow echoing very loudly in his ears. Why hadn't he realised before that he would be able to hear her undressing? Perhaps she was walking around undressed this minute, her white skin gleaming in the dim light, with only her long black hair to cover her--

The rustling abruptly stopped, and was followed by several short sounds of annoyance. Something thumped, something else was slammed shut and the door whipped open to display Miss Woodville, who was panting with a deep look of exasperation on her face. "Let's go."

Well, it wasn't the first time one of his fantasies had been shot to hell. Snape stood up slowly and pushed the chair aside, barely noting the way Miss Woodville was fidgeting in her eagerness to be away. The black sweater she was wearing didn't reveal anything he hadn't already seen--all her bodices were tight to begin with, and this sweater actually exposed less of her then the necklines of her dresses. The skirt was entirely different; it was made of some shimmering material and it fitted nicely to the contour of her lower body, when her regular dresses flared out from the waist and hid everything down to the floor. For the first time, he got a good look at her hips--narrow, but they curved decently and her legs were a bit on the thin side, but she had nice calves...

"Snape?" She prodded him with a finger. "Why are you wearing your robes?"

"Oh." He looked down at himself, then back up at her serious face. Miss Woodville's lips had been reddened with some Muggle product and her pale skin had a rosier look then usual. "Because you ran off with my cloak and I had no better way to conceal myself." He threw in a frown to cover the fact that he had just been gaping at her like an idiot.

Her face changed into a look of guilty embarrassment. "Right." Unexpectedly, she seized his hand and pulled him inside her bedroom, closing the door behind them. "I have it right here."

His cloak had been neatly folded and set aside on her dresser, and as he shook it out, Miss Woodville studied him with a appraising look in her eye, head tilted to one side. "Take off your robes so I can make sure you look decent," she ordered, and stepped back, arms folded and one foot tapping out a quick beat against the rug.

"Yes, Highness," he sneered and shed his robes, inconspicuously sighing as he felt cool air on his skin at last. What a pity he wasn't stripping for a more interesting reason, like waiting to join her in bed. No sooner had that thought passed then he found himself sincerely hoping that little notion couldn't be read from his face.

She walked around him, face still in concentration and pronounced him not bad once she had finished her little inspection. "Except for your hair--"

"What about it?" he snapped. She'd never had a problem with it before.

"It looks a bit strange with that clothing," she said, not looking at him. "Actually, it looks a bit strange ordinarily, but..."

Miss Woodville stepped closer and to his surprise, went behind him and pulled his hair back, yanking a piece here and there. "Maybe like this...perhaps that will hide it..."

"Hide what?" he snarled, getting very annoyed with her perfectionism, but enjoying the way she tugged on his hair.

"It's a bit long..."

"Cut it yourself then."

"And greasy..."

"Wash it yourself then." Snape pulled away from her hands with a growl and shook himself until he felt his hair resettle around his face, exactly as it should be. "Are we done discussing my hygiene so we can leave?"

Her eyes rolled. "Oh, fine," she snapped and grabbed a Muggle coat from a hook on the wall, shrugging it on whilst she watched him. "I guess you'll just have to wear your cloak."

"Fine with me."

They left her room and crept quietly down the stairs from Ravenclaw Tower, heading as swiftly as possible for the Great Hall and the way out. "We're flying in? It's a long way to go," he asked as they drew closer to the entrance hall.

"We'll have to fly a ways from the castle and then Apperate in jumps," she whispered, eyeing a small knot of ghosts that had just drifted in from behind the tapestries. "London's too far for me to do it all at once. It's the easiest way."

"Then I'll let you navigate since you have so much experience in the matter."

She kicked him. "Shut up and hurry, damn it! I want to leave before anyone else wakes up."

As quietly as possible, they tugged open the main doors and slipped out, walking quickly towards the broom shed, whilst Snape let out a breath he hadn't even realised he'd been holding. Easier then he'd thought and not a single person had spotted them inside the castle. 

*** 

Two sets of eyes followed the pair as they made their way out of Hogwarts and two sets of eyes turned to glance at each other once they had moved out of sight.

"So they finally made up long enough to go to London," the older boy sneered. "I thought I'd go insane waiting."

The other boy stuffed his hands in the pockets of his robe and stared out the window at the rising sun. It could just be glimpsed in bits and pieces through the dark line of the trees. "How'd you find out they were going to London anyway?"

"I listen at doors," the first boy said casually. "It's really amazing what people let slip when they think there's no one around." His partner shrugged and continued to stare at the landscape.

"You go and alert the operatives in London," the first boy said, giving his companion a sharp tap on the arm. "And remember to specify that the brat is to be alive and unharmed. Our Lord's orders."

"Yeah," the other muttered. "What about Professor Snape?"

Boy One laughed out loud, slapping a hand against the windowsill. "That filthy traitor? Kill him if they can't bring him alive. I imagine the Dark Lord wants a chat with him." His eyes narrowed in thought. "Not only did he renounce the Dark Lord, he's got a thing for her. I can't believe anyone would be attracted to that putrid little slattern...but then again, Snape's not exactly the grand lover, is he?" 

He laughed once more, as the other boy glanced sideways at his partner and hurried away, feet pounding up the ancient steps to the tower and as Boy Two left, Boy One started to whistle cheerfully. 

Outside the window, an owl took flight. 


	12. Caveat Emptor

**Part 11: Caveat Emptor**

_Let the buyer beware_

***   
**October, 1985.**   
*** 

She had really tried her best to shut the door quietly, but a bell tinkled softly, muffled against the many rows of dark wood that made up the small shop. She sighed at the noise, and began to turn.

"Good afternoon, Lady Woodville," a voice said quietly, very near her ear and the girl froze, one foot still in the air and her fingers clenched on the door knob. "I'd been wondering when I might finally see you--it's taken you far longer to come here then your siblings."

_I...what? How? How?_

"Seventeen is quite old to be getting your first wand," he added to her silence. "Though you did not really have a choice in the matter, did you? I wonder if your mother regrets that now...power will always find an out, no matter how one tries to stifle it..."

Liliana Woodville finished her turn and reached to push her red hood away from her face with fingers that had gone stiff with shock. Her cloak had been pulled tightly around her face...she hadn't even been facing into the store for more than five seconds..._what the bloody hell?_

_How did he do that? How the hell does he know so much? Has he been reading my mind somehow?_ There were witches and wizards who had that power, though it wasn't exactly common...there was an odd feeling in her head, as if a finger was being slowly dragged through the folds of her memory...She clapped both hands to her ears and they stung fiercely from the blow. "Get out!"

Mr. Ollivander stood quietly, watching her jerky movements with his pale, shimmering eyes. The quiet was becoming quite uncomfortable.

"My mother is Lady Woodville," she told him curtly as she walked further past him into the shop, trying to find her tongue again. "I'm just a Miss."

He cocked his head and looked at her face for a long moment, his eyes intent. "No, you don't know, do you? Terrible shame, terrible," he finally murmured, breaking his gaze. "But," he added, seeing her mouth open to ask the question, "never mind that now--which hand is your dominant?"

"Right."

Ollivander's long, spidery fingers searched rapidly around the clutter on his desk. "Let's see, let's see...Hold out your right arm, please." 

He stretched a measuring tape along her arm, checked it, measured her other arm, then her height, across her body--"Hey!"--then tossed the tape down and walked quickly towards a row of dusty boxes lining the far wall. Yanking one free, he pushed it into her hand and went straight back to the wall. "Elm and Dragon, 10 inches, try it."

Liliana had scarcely lifted it from the box when Ollivander grabbed it back and pushed another into her arms. "Ceder and Unicorn, 9 inches."

"No, no, that isn't going to work either," he muttered, a smile beginning to break out on his narrow face as he sprinted back to the wall yet again. "Fitted your brother and sister, mother and father, aunts and uncles and your grandfather right up--wasn't hard to figure out what they needed. Your father's younger sister was like you though--a different fit. Maple and phoenix, 11 inches. Go on."

This one felt a little different from the others, but Ollivander still grabbed it away. "Getting closer, but not quite right...ah! That might be the trick!"

His silvery eyes gleaming brightly, Ollivander pushed a filthy box at her, panting a bit as he did. "Rosewood and phoenix, 12 1/2 inches."

Backing away a few steps, Liliana lifted the lid and rubbed her fingers against smooth wood. It was odd, but there seemed to be a faint rose smell coming from the box..."Ah!" 

Her arm shook as a violent tingle went through her fingertips all the way to her shoulder, and a small flurry of bright, silvery sparks shot out from the end. 

"There's your match," Ollivander said quietly, a small, triumphant smile on his lips. 

"Umm. Well, thank you." She twirled it a bit between her fingers, admiring the way the faint light glittered off the wood. What more can one say in a situation like this?

Liliana handed over her Galleons at the desk and tucked her new wand up into her sleeve, feeling quite satisfied with the whole venture. It had been far easier than she had suspected..."Lady Woodville?"

"What?" She looked back over her shoulder at the odd man, frowning. Damn, and she had almost been out the door too. 

Ollivander was busily shuffling papers on his desk, and did not look up at her, but his voice was mild. "A humble word of advice; buy today's Daily Prophet at some point, but do not, I repeat, do not even glance at it until you are safely in private. Even given your...situation, I feel it is the best thing. Yes, the best way."

All her hairs were beginning to prickle. "Ah, yes. Okay, I'll keep that in mind; thank you for the wand, goodbye."

The bell tinkled once more on her way out.

*** 

Keeping her red hood pulled tight around her face, Liliana walked as quickly as she could through the hordes of people jostling their way through Diagon Alley. Every few steps she ran a finger over the bulge her new wand was making in her sleeve, and she couldn't stop smiling._ Hah! I'd like to go home and wave this in Mother's face; not a good idea but so tempting. Turn her and Charles into toads and sell them to a potions maker._

As Liliana passed by the Leaky Cauldron, a loud tumble of voices suddenly broke through her happy reverie and she paused for a moment, remembering Ollivander's advice to buy the _Daily Prophet._ There were some on sale in a little stand near the pub's entrance.

"Just put it in a bag," she told the boy running the stand. "I don't want to read it yet."

He rolled his eyes at this strange request, but did as she requested. "Okay, miss."

"...finally got what they deserved," a man almost directly behind her said dryly. "Too bad it wasn't sooner!"

"The less Death Eater scum in this world, the better," a nearby woman replied and crossed herself. "Pity there's still more left where those came from."

"I wonder if there's a reward for findin' the girl heir?" another woman put in, her face eager. "Strange that the Aurors haven't tracked her yet. They'd prolly be grateful."

Liliana glanced from face to face, then down at their hands. All clutched copies of the _Daily Prophet_.

"I know they were responsible for the death of my son and daughter!" a large man shouted over the other voices. "They were two of the best Aurors the Ministry'd seen in a hundred years! I knew it was them! But the Ministry never did anything! Too scared to move because of their rank and reputation!"

Her eyes started to read the headline half-visible on one man's copy despite her best efforts to pull her gaze away. _Double Murder Stuns Wizarding..._

"Well, they'd dead now. Why don't we have a toast?" The speaker flourished her wand and produced a small glass of wine. "The Dementor's Kiss to Iolanthe Woodville--and may the rest of the lot burn in Hell."

_Don't read it until you are alone...Even given your situation, I feel it is the best thing..._

Little flashes of jewel-bright light fluttered in her eyes and Liliana could no longer feel her legs. "I'm..I'm going to be sick..."

The last feeling she had was the wood of the stand splintering underneath her as she fell on top of it.

*** 

**THE DAILY PROPHET  
OCTOBER 27th, 1985 **

** DOUBLE MURDER STUNS WIZARDING WORLD**  
By Patience Applethorn. 

A group of Aurors summoned to a country manor by reports of a disturbance were shocked to find three members of a aristocratic wizarding family dead and the fourth apparently looting the manor.

Found dead were Lord Andrew Woodville, age 55, his daughter, the Honourable Maida Woodville, age 25 and his son, the Honourable Charles Woodville, age 27. It has been determined that Lord Woodville and his daughter were murdered with the Killing Curse.

After separating from his wife, Lord Woodville had been living quietly at the manor with his elder daughter and a small group of servants. It is nearly certain that his wife and son were deeply involved with He Who Must Not Be Named, but whether or not Lord Andrew and his daughter were also Dark Wizards has yet to be ascertained. "They were living quiet, just tryin' to live right for a change," said Jamie Hexton, one of Lord Woodville's servants at the manor. "My lord wanted his daughter to have some peace away from her mother. Miss Maida...her mind wasn't what you would call strong."

Authorities have managed to piece together a tentative sequence of the nights' events from the testimony of the sole witness to the murders, a servant who escaped detection by hiding in a nearby closet and whose identity is being kept secret by the Ministry of Magic.

According to the witness, Lord Andrew had been reading in his study with his daughter around nine o'clock that evening, when there was a sudden crashing sound from one of the rooms down the hall. Lord Andrew rose immediately and shouted for the servants and his daughter to flee, but the intruders--Lord Andrew's own wife and son-- burst into the room much more quickly than he expected.

"There was a tremendous fight, hexes and curses all over the place, so much destruction," the shaken witness recounted. "The other servants ran to the back to hide, and Lord Woodville told Miss Maida to go with them, but the Lady Woodville was too quick...she used the Cruciatus Curse on her own daughter and demanded to know where something was. I couldn't hear exactly, there was so much shouting. Lord Andrew yelled back that they would never know and hit his son with some kind of hex, which caused Mr. Charles to start writhing in pain. The next thing I knew, there was a flash of light. Lady Woodville'd used the Curse on her daughter and Miss Maida fell to the ground."

After killing her daughter, Lady Iolanthe Woodville apparently left at this point to conduct a search for this mysterious object, leaving Charles Woodville alone with his father. Mr. Charles "had a terrible smirk on his face and told Lord Woodville that he'd been waiting for this," and then lifted his wand, apparently preparing to use the Killing Curse on his father. However, Lord Woodville swiftly grasped his son's intentions and swung his own wand up, shouting the Killing Curse at the same moment his son did. Both quickly died.

It was at this point the Aurors reached the manor and found the victims, as well as Lady Woodville, who had been rifling through the rooms of the manor, leaving a trail of destroyed furniture and gutted rooms in the wake of her desperate search. Lady Woodville was apprehended in the back rooms as she tried to torture information out of the cringing servants and quickly brought back to the Ministry, where she remains in custody. Plans to remove her to Azkaban for trial have not yet been finalized. 

With the deaths of Lord Woodville and his children, the Woodville title has fallen to the last remaining heir of the main family line, a mysterious younger daughter. According to the servants, the young lady had left the family and vanished some time before and all efforts to trace her so far have failed. Anyone with information on her whereabouts is advised to contact the Ministry immediately, as the authorities are quite interested in speaking with her.

***   
December, 1995.   
*** 

Early morning at Hogwarts, with the sun just visible through the Forbidden Forest's gnarled fretwork of black branches. Students and teachers were stumbling out of bed, sending resigned rumblings throughout the castle, and people were beginning to assemble for breakfast in the Great Hall.

Some people had more interesting things in mind than breakfast.

"They won't get away," Boy One said calmly, resting his chin against his younger companion's hair whilst he laced his narrow fingers through the soft strands. "Thinking they're so damn smart, so very brilliant. It'll be the death of them."

Boy Two shifted slightly and leaned forward, picking at Boy One's fingers with choppy plucks. "What exactly does the Lord want with her?" he asked, swallowing twice on this simple sentence.

"He didn't tell me, and it wasn't my place to ask," the first snapped and pulled his partner back with a sharp yank, resettling him into a more comfortable position. "She has assets that interest him...talents...a limited ability to do magic without a wand..."

The boy fell silent for a moment, then added; "Always so clever, so smug, so knowing..." 

*** 

Snape looked rather awkward on a broom, with his long, thin frame hunched into an arch over the narrow handle and his black cloak flapping behind him like the wings of some great rusty crow, but he could fly very quickly. So quickly that he had nearly left her behind. Twice.

Her broom pitched abruptly, then swerved without warning for the fourth time in a fifteen minute flight. "Hold up!" Lilika yelled ahead, clutching at her broom with fingers that were rigid and gone quite numb from the wind. "I have to land!"

Snape turned his head just enough for her to see his familiar, crooked sneer through the lank strands of hair blowing into his face. "Again? My, my. We certainly don't have our brooms looked at often enough, do we?"

"Oh, shut up," she muttered through her teeth, and aimed her broom downward so she could land on the little patch of grass that was visible on her left. The broom complied easily enough for most of the way, then decided five feet from the ground that it wasn't going to work anymore and happily went dead.

Lilika hit the ground at an angle, smacking her hip and shoulder into the frozen soil, then rolled a few feet, coming to rest right at Snape's large feet.

"Don't you say anything," she snapped, wanting to quiet him before he could fire off the slur she could see hovering around the corners of his mouth. "I'm not in the mood for any of your lip."

Snape raised both eyebrows and crossed his arms as he watched her struggle to rise, black eyes gleaming coldly. "This was your brilliant idea, Miss Woodville. Need I remind you that we could have been to London and back by now? That is, we could if someone wasn't using a third-rate broom that kept failing every three seconds. Imagine; the heir of the terrifying Woodville family killed because all her Galleons can't teach her how to buy a decent broom. It might make a nice-sized column in the Daily Prophet."

Rage could do wonders for dispelling pain. Lilika jumped to her feet before he finished talking, took her broom in hand, and aimed a savage blow towards Snape's head. He caught it just as it was about to impact on his skull.

Unfortunately for Snape, all his Slytherin cunning failed to inform him that she was using the broom as a feint to keep him from noticing that her foot was about to deliver a savage kick to his knee. He collapsed with a groan, and she sauntered away to pick up her now useless broom from the dry grass.

"My, we are a little savage, aren't we?" Snape spat as he rubbed his knee, his long fingers touching the injured area carefully. "Instead of using your supposedly great intellect, you settle on violence as a way to even all your scores..."

What, and he had somehow failed to notice all those other times she had chosen to inflict physical damage on him instead of fumbling for the right words? She had wit enough, yet Lilika had long ago decided it was better to strike first, however crudely, and walk away when one's victim is still moaning in pain. Best to play to one's strengths.

Lilika marched over to the tree Snape had propped his broom against and picked it up with a grunt, rolling it between her fingers. It was a good bit bigger and thicker than her broom and made from some pitted dark wood that scraped against her fingers. "I'll fit." She turned to look at him, then sighed and walked the few feet back to where he was crouching, still unable to get up. "It's too far to walk to our next Apparation point; I'll ride on the back of your broom."

Snape lifted his head with an almost audible snap and stared at her, his black eyes wide. "And have you touch me? I think not."

"I'll sit right at the end." She demonstrated by laying the broom flat and straddling it near the bristles, keeping her hands between her knees to save space. "Plenty of room, see?"

"For you to fall off and kill yourself, yes." He began to rise to his feet, using a nearby tree as a crutch to drag himself up. "I won't allow it."

Lilika was about to kick him once more. "Then what do you propose we do?" she snarled. "We can't walk--too far for me to Apparate--"

"Yet another deficiency of yours." Snape reached over and yanked the broom away from her, settling himself back upon it with a ferocious sneer curling the edges of his mouth. "What a pity no one in your family taught you how to be a proper witch; it almost makes me feel like correcting their mistakes. Come _here_."

With a sudden pull, Snape had taken hold of her arm and was lifting her before she could protest; he then set her directly behind him, so close that her knees were pressing into his back. 

"Put your hands on my shoulders and nowhere else," he growled, taking up his own place on the broom and facing front. His shoulders were stiff with tension and Lilika could almost give an exact count of the bones beneath his skin, as she could feel each of them distinctly. "If you fall off, I'm not going to save you." 

She could see Snape gritting his teeth, his jaw line flexing out sharply as she peered over his shoulder. Well. If she was so hideous to him, then why did he have no trouble touching her? His long hands slipped all over her body with ease, but let her lay a finger on one of his arms and he tensed up so greatly one good poke would snap him in two. 

Lilika clenched her fingers a little more tightly on his narrow shoulders as they left the ground and drifted upward on a rising breeze, Snape's cloak folding around her in thick ripples of black wool. Behind her hands, his shoulders were hunched into hard little peaks. 

Snape really wasn't bad at flying, and if she leaned closer, she could smell his oddly pleasant scent of dust and dried herbs. 

Best of all, he was blocking all the wind. 

*** 

Snape had scarcely been given time to get his breath back upon their arrival in London before Miss Woodville had wrapped her wiry little fingers around his arm and dragged him amongst Muggles. "I'm starving!" 

Pulling him from their concealed landing spot, Miss Woodville had led him off into the stream of swarming Muggles, many of whom stopped to gawk and gape as she pulled him along behind her as if he were no more than a kite. Snape quickly twisted his face in the most ferocious scowl he possessed and endured this treatment grimly as the girl tugged him down the streets, towards a small cafe that squatted on a corner like a giant pale mushroom. 

The cafe was quite dark inside, but that hardly fazed Miss Woodville; she finally relinquished her grip on his arm and all but ran to a table set back and off to the side, hunched down in a chair and propped a menu open in front of her nose. 

He followed more sedately, glaring at the staff to keep them away, and reached up to rub his arm as he went. There was a dull, steady ache where her nails had driven into his skin, and he found that he rather liked it. 

Miss Woodville was still drooling over the contents of the menu whilst he sat quietly with his hands folded in front of him and used the quiet to study the odd little creature who was the source of so much discomfort to him. 

Snape began to wonder, once again, why he was so attracted to this undeserving female. His dreams were still frequent and intense, but they were not the worst thing, the most unmanageable thing... 

No. The dreams were mere piffle. It was the knowledge that she had somehow managed to override all his caution, all his control, all his loathing to lodge herself firmly in his brain and refuse to come out. He was quickly losing himself in a fog of lust, becoming slave to a girl who held an appeal he still could not fathom in the hope of lying with her and knowing he had made her submit. 

Not that it was going to happen anytime soon. 

"Oooh, they have duck here. I haven't had that in a while, and lamb too, and look! Salmon! And cheese tarts!" A little whimper of happiness escaped her lips. "So many good things to pick--why does everything have to be so difficult?" Watching her squirm about, Snape permitted himself a smile. 

She still ate everything in sight, but her petite body was actually beginning to show evidence of this, and there was a pleasant new...bouncy-ness to certain of her curves, most apparent when she moved quickly...

"Snape. Awaken please. What are you going to have?"

He pulled a sneer to cover his lapse. "I had no idea my habits were so interesting to you. Tea and perhaps some toast. Why does it matter?" 

"That's all?! Goodness, no wonder you're so scrawny." She reached for her purse and began rifling through it, head down. "You say I'm too thin, yet you're the one living on sugar-water and dried bread. Order something more. Indulge a little." 

Snape jabbed a finger at her open menu and gave her a look of severe disbelief. "How can I, when you plan to devour every entree? What a pity that the rest of the Hogwarts staff has to make do with the pittance of our salary whilst you use your paychecks for play money." 

Her lips were curling and a angry red flush dotted her pale cheeks. "Why should you be concerned with how much I eat when I'm going to be paying for everything?" Miss Woodville closed her purse with a snap, and looked at him as if he was a new kind of idiot. 

"Who said you were paying for everything? I have money!" 

"Do you? You were just complaining about the poor pay you draw from teaching and the Snape family used to be quite prosperous, but they seemed to have lost most of their fortune during the time of Johannes and Esmeralda Snape--your grandparents, I believe? because of that pair's fetish for gambling, and lately have been reduced to what is usually called 'genteel poverty'." 

Snape tasted the inside of his dry cheek. "Have you been researching me?" he whispered. 

"Mmm. Well, since you know all about me, I thought it would be fair to even the field." She tilted her glasses back up on her nose and one corner of her mouth folded in. "Severus Julian Snape, born January 17th, 1960. Your father Adrian Snape died about seven years ago and your mother Angela died when you were six. You have one older sister, Julia Severa, who is nearly seven years older than you and left Hogwarts as you were entering it." 

Miss Woodville tapped two of her small white fingers together, then added: "Both of you were in House Slytherin--surprise, surprise, and your sister was also considered quite skilled at Potions. Family trait? Miss Snape was also known for being rather outspoken against the Dark Arts--obviously you didn't follow her good example--and sort of wandered around after graduation, not taking any jobs. She was last seen dancing on top of a table in Polynesia wearing a coconut bra and a grass skirt." 

All the blood had drained from his face but he managed a few words through his parched lips. "That sounds quite like something my sister would do, yes." Thorough...thorough...but she hadn't been quite thorough enough. She would have surely said something by now if she knew... 

Miss Woodville blinked at him. "Why is she blonde?" 

"Because she dyes it, the wench," he snapped. 

Her face had turned faintly pinkish and she played with her napkin for a minute, then threw it down and got up from the table. "You have a weird family. I'm going off to freshen myself. If the waiter comes by, tell him I'm not ready to order yet, and don't you dare try to pay for anything. I'll be right back." 

"_I_ have a weird family? _I_?" he roared at her departing back. 

*** 

After Miss Woodville had been fed and watered to her contentment, they left the cafe and wandered the streets in search of a place where she could do her holiday shopping. 

"Do you need to buy anything?" she asked, eyes straight ahead. 

"No. I've already finished." Well, almost. Socks and books for the Headmaster, an twenty-foot inflatable snake for McGonagall (only reasonable considering that her Christmas present to him last year had been Gryffindor boxer shorts) a cactus for Sprout, wine for Flitwick and everyone else was too unimportant for him to bother. 

He had not yet found a present for his sister. It would take some doing, he reflected grimly, to top the present she had given him last year; giant attack beetles from Madagascar meant to guard his chambers. He had given them to Hagrid, who was now using them to guard his vegetable patch in the summer. 

"Excellent," the girl murmured, a gratified smirk drawing up the corners of her mouth. "More for me then. I can't stand watching other people shop." 

They walked on, until Snape felt a small hand on his arm, turning him in another direction and he allowed Miss Woodville to guide him towards a brightly-lit jewelry shop across the way from where they were walking. The door was open despite the cold and loud, jangly holiday music gushed forth from the inside. He swallowed a gag. 

The store was moderately full with customers, and Miss Woodville stopped just inside the door to peer at some glittery nonsense in a display case, Snape fidgeting at her side. 

Hideously bored, Snape let his gaze wander across the store, lighting first on the customers (all fat middle-aged Muggle women and a few grey, harassed looking men) and then on the merchandise (all over-priced gaud and flash, but Miss Woodville could certainly afford it). 

"Ah! Welcome. Are you perhaps in search of a gift for your gentleman friend here?" 

Very slowly, Snape turned to see a rotund little man gazing at Miss Woodville with the hopeful look of a dog salivating for food. 

Miss Woodville, to her credit, gave the man a glance that could have chipped granite. "He's not my lover if that's what you're trying to say, and I'm not shopping for him." 

The man held both hands up in a placating wall. "My apologies. I merely wanted to know if I could be of assistance." 

Her eyes became dark little slits. "You'll know if I do," she said and abruptly turned her back, reaching up to examine a bracelet and matching earrings on display nearby. 

Looking slightly put-off, the man turned next to Snape, who was smiling very, very widely. 

"Don't even think about it," he informed the man pleasantly and strolled away. 

*** 

Nearly an hour had passed and Miss Woodville was still not finished. She had a small pile of gift-wrapped packages by her hand and was still fussing over yet another set of jewelry.

Snape had long since passed from boredom into frustration and he was now stalking back and forth in front of the door, trying to persuade Miss Woodville to leave on her own before he carried her out bodily.

"Will you hurry up?" he hissed for the fifty-third time. Several Muggles glanced at each other nervously and carefully side-stepped away.

"A moment," Miss Woodville said calmly--the exact same words she'd used the last four times--as she held a necklace up against her thin neck.

He spun around with a growl of deep annoyance and walked towards the back of the store, scattering Muggles as he went. 

The back seemed to be the place where the less expensive pieces were kept, so it was relatively empty and quiet. Here, Snape paced restlessly up and down along the rows of cases until a smudge of darkness against all the gleaming brightness caught his eye. 

Resting on a pad of crimson velvet was a little pendent of some dusky metal; blackened silver or some rare stone perhaps. The material had been worked in the shape of some bird, its wings outstretched and its feet curled close to its body, beak open in a smooth grimace against the velvet. Its eyes glinted redly at him. 

Snape touched the display case above it lightly. What a curious thing. 

"She would, at the very least, find it appropriate," he muttered, "and since she's so enthusiastic about Ravenclaw, she would probably be delighted." 

Still he hovered, undecided. Snape doubted very much that Miss Woodville had gotten him anything--and even if she had, it would likely be some small, cheap trinket. 

"I should get her something, though...just to show her up if she does neglect to buy a gift for me." 

Besides, he liked the idea of something he'd bought for her resting against her skin, a small and constant reminder of his generosity. 

Fine, he decided. He'd get it for her and savor the embarrassment that would come when her gift did not match up to his. The dark metal would look good around her white neck. 

Just as he'd finished paying for it (he'd carefully timed his purchase so Miss Woodville would be too busy with her own interests to notice) Miss Woodville came up to him, looking a bit harried and out of breath. 

"Were you back here all this time?" she demanded, afterwards glancing back over her shoulder. 

"No, I momentarily stepped into a neighborhood dimension to get away from the Muggles," he snapped. "Of course I've been back here. Why?" 

"Then you must have seen him." 

"Seen who?" Couldn't she just give him all the pertinent details all at once? 

"The man who was staring at me." A light blush rose over Miss Woodville's face and she preened absently, tossing her long hair over her shoulder as she looked at him. "The young one." 

"What man? What young one?" Snape barked, fighting the urge to grab her shoulders and shake her like a tree in a strong wind. "The whole story if you please! Now." 

The girl put a hand to her chin, considering. "Calm yourself. He did nothing but stare at me. I caught him doing it several times whilst I was looking at some earrings. He was about my age and rather nattily dressed in a pin-striped suit. Sandy blond hair. His clothes did look a bit old fashioned, but his entire appearance fairly shrieked 'toff'." 

"Oh, the way your appearance does?" 

"No, my appearance shrieks that I'm a throwback to the Victorian era. As does yours, Mr 'Robe of a Zillion Buttons'. The point is, I saw him heading back here and you say you saw no one else come this way." 

It felt very much like worms were crawling about in his stomach and up his spine. "No, no one came this way." 

Her eyes were grave. "A wizard with the gall to Disapparate in the middle of a crowded store." 

His heart was pounding in an unfamiliar frenzy against his chest and when he took her hand she didn't pull away. "Let's leave." 

Miss Woodville nodded in perfect agreement for once and they quietly slipped out the front door, heads down. At a tug from her, they started to walk back up the way they had come. "We can take this street west and then cut across..." 

"Lady Woodville?" 

She stopped dead in the street and Snape with her. 

Standing on the pavement directly in front of them was a young man with sandy hair, smiling agreeably. He held up a small ball of what looked like crinkled metal and the light from the street lamp overhead glanced off it, sending sharp cracks of light in all directions. 

"Catch," he said and tossed the ball at them. 

"Don't you dare!" Snape hissed into her ear, grabbing her hand even more tightly in his, but the warning did them no good. 

The ball smacked Miss Woodville lightly in the chest and with a tremendous gust of wind, the ground fell from under their feet. 

*** 

They landed in among dead grass, still clutching the other's hand. Lilika spat out dirt and leaves, her thoughts somewhat jarred from their rough landing. "What was that?" 

"Portkey," Snape growled from her side as he untangled himself from her arm and stumbled to his feet. Once free of his grasp, Lilika wasted no time in getting up. "We've got to leave now." She darted a look around; just grass and a few dried up trees. No clues to where they were. 

"Yes." 

It was an excellent idea but it came a few seconds too late; no sooner had the words left her mouth than a series of small pops sounded about thirty feet in front of them, heralding the arrival of the toff, who looked crisp and unhurried and a new face--his companion, a great slab of a man dressed in a workman's dirty greens and browns.

"I'm so sorry for the inconvience, my lady," the toff said smoothly, brushing a piece of plant off his suit and starting to walk towards them. "It simply wouldn't do to attract attention of course, hence the peremptory change of location." 

"Naturally," Lilika agreed sourly. "It simply doesn't do to abduct a member of the nobility from the streets of London in the middle of everything!" To her surprise she found herself yelling the last words, chest heaving. 

_Anger is good. Keeps you from locking up in fear. Two against two. You've faced worse._

"So you are the new breed," Snape said, eyeing the Death Eaters with utter distaste. "The Dark Lord grows desperate." The large man scowled. 

"Ah. You must be Snape." The leader halted and frowned, his expression distant and slightly troubled and this expression grew stronger at a nudge from his subordinate. "Our orders were to take her and kill him, yet I have heard the Dark Lord express a desire to see Snape face to face one last time. Perhaps..." 

Snape smiled grimly. "One last time, eh? My, he's optimistic." He drew his wand with a quick, almost graceful gesture and shifted into a dueling stance. "Try. Just try." 

The leader brightened even more. "I was fairly sure that I would have to fight to secure her," he said, almost beaming. "Excellent! I have been wanting to practise a bit." 

Throwing open his coat, the Death Eater reached inside and drew out a long object, too thick to be a wand and entirely the wrong shape. Most wizards would have blinked at such a thing uncertainly, but she was not most wizards.

"SNAPE!" she bellowed. "Don't move! That's a gun! Magic isn't fast enough against it!" 

"I know what it is!" he snapped in reply but he refused to back away, actually moving to place himself in the sights of the Death Eater and his weapon. 

The young man smiled sweetly and saluted with his weapon. "Still determined? Well. Which is faster--your magic or my gun?"

Lilika took an unsteady step towards Snape, but the gun swung to point at her. "I will shoot you if I have to," the Death Eater told her pleasantly and with that, Snape charged forward with an incoherent sound of rage. "Cru--" 

The toff waited until Snape had almost finished, then waved his gun lazily and a tremendous bang burst forth on a brilliant flash of light. 

Snape flew backwards, kicking up dust and pebbles in his wake and slammed against a tree, his head thudding against the trunk with a loud, dull smack. 

Smiling, the Death Eater watched Snape fall, then turned to her, his eyes earnest. "If you please, lady, will you come with us? Our Lord has been asking for you?" 

Lilika stepped back and glowered at him, bringing her wand forward. "Whatever for?" 

The young man actually chuckled. "Do you think he tells us? We are instruments of service, not of inquiry." 

"Like all good pawns are." The tone of her voice could have eaten through steel, but the Death Eater seemed unaffected. "Perhaps. So, if we don't have your cooperation, we'll have to carry you off." 

"If you know so much about me, you would know...you must know...that I would never go willingly." 

"I am so sorry my lady, but you truly give me no choice. I hope you will find it in your heart to forgive me later." He stepped forward and swung the gun in an odd, wavery pattern and spoke a word too low for Lilika to hear. 

It started low, in her belly, and then the pain flew up to consume her heart, a network of white-hot wires twisting and twining inside her. Against this pain, her legs folded and left her sprawled on the ground, every muscle twitching madly. 

She couldn't even scream. 

Her tearing eyes managed to focus on the Death Eater, who had a look of sincere sorrow all over his face. "I did warn you." 

It took several more seconds before she could bring air into her lungs without feeling as though they were burning away from the pain. To try and take her mind away, Lilika thought of the gun, it's oddly elongated barrel and lack of metal even in the trigger... 

"That's no gun," she managed to whisper, nearly all her muscles still locked from the pain. "It's a wand..." 

The man grinned, looking absurdly pleased. "How clever of you to tell! Yes, it is. I had it specially modified after viewing a fine pistol that had once belonged to my great-grandfather. I find it comes in quite handy." 

Lilika was having trouble keeping her eyes open. "That spell..." 

"Hush now, you really must save your strength." 

"Tell me." 

"Bruno?" the Death Eater called. 

_"What did you do?_" 

The Death Eater shrugged ruefully. "Merely twisted the remnants of a spell left in your body by your lady mother. I doubt that was the use it was intended to be put to, but..." 

"You know about my seal?" she whispered, bitter saliva filling her mouth, and her ribs cracking faintly as she brought her knees closer to her chest. The pain had somewhat subsided whilst she was talking but it was still very hard to move. She slipped a hand under the waist of her skirts. 

"Oh yes. Mr Anthony is quite fond of telling people about the novel way his aunt had disciplined his wayward cousin." He snapped his fingers. "Bruno, go get her, please--I fear we've taken entirely too long already." 

Bruno started to walk and she forced her way past the humming pain in her limbs to reach further down and grasp the knife she kept under her skirts. 

_Why won't Snape wake up? Did they really strike him that hard? Is he feinting? If he is feinting, why the hell couldn't he give me some sign that he is? Bruno will be more stunned than removed and I don't think Mr Toff over there is going to be easy to deal with._

Her body now lay inside a circle of perfect shadow and Lilika adjusted her hold on the knife's slippery handle. A little pool of sweat had collected in the blood groove. 

Bruno started to lift her up and as he turned her body to face him, Lilika plunged the blade into his shoulder. 

He shrieked with the voice of a rusty gate being forced open, hurling her from his arms and through the dusty thump of her impact with the ground she heard Snape roar. 

"_Expelliarmus!_" 

Snape still leaned against the tree, but he had pulled himself up in a squat, one arm outstretched, the other clenched against the trunk for balance. Mr Toff's modified wand had been knocked a fair distance against the field, a light plume of smoke rising from where it lay. 

Mr Toff himself had been thrown back several feet from the force of Snape's spell and he was just now getting to shaky feet, his face was grey and taunt with anger. Once up, he looked first towards his wand, then to Snape, his gaze passing over the bulk of his associate. One hand contracted into a fist but he made no move towards them. 

"I see you have the better of me; there is no reason for me to stay," he said after a short silence. His voice was unnaturally slow voice and to Lilika's great surprise, he lowered his head towards her in a stiff bow. 

Lilika and Snape watched this little performance through wary eyes. 

"Until the next time, my lady," he added, and vanished with a pop, seconds before Snape's curse shot through where he had been standing. 

Lilika shivered. A breeze nipped at her skin and wrapped around her hair whilst the branches above her rattled loudly. 

She rose to her feet, then, shaking with every movement; Snape stood fixed in place for a few moments after the Death Eater had gone, with a grim curve to his mouth, then shoved his wand back into his sleeve and went over to where the other one had fallen unconscious from her attack. 

He kicked the fallen Bruno, then stepped back and regarded him for a moment, his lips pursed in an ugly scowl. "No sense in waiting," he muttered, and drew his wand again, pointing it at the Death Eater's sagging form. "Ava..." 

Panic kicked her hard in the ribs. "What are you doing?" 

Snape broke off and scowled at her. "What does it look like, silly girl?" 

"But...he..you don't need to go that far..." 

"I most certainly do. Do you want to leave a Death Eater running about when you could easily eliminate him? He's no use as a informant; he's just big and stupid, like the other one said." 

Her fear and disgust were rising to choke her, a weight pressing her voice into a whisper. "Like your Crabbe and Goyle you mean?" 

Snape did not turn back around, but his shoulders went rigid. "Shut up." 

"I'm terribly sorry. Did I remind you that the man you are about to kill is a person, not an object?" she asked, in her most politely frigid tone. 

His ears had turned a dull brick colour. "I'm merely getting rid of a problem." 

"A problem like you once were," Lilika spat. He did turn at that, halfway. 

"Yes, except I've never been that large." 

She wanted to beat him, smash his face and break his nose. "How can you? How can you kill him without him ever knowing that it's going to happen? Do you really need more death on your hands?" 

The veins were standing out along Snape's throat. "Voldemort plans to take Azkaban--there's no solution there. Leaving him alive would leave one more Death Eater around to torture and kill and destroy!" His voice grew louder with each passing word. "You are not going to change my mind; we simply do not have the time to be arguing this! Go somewhere else if this bothers you." 

Go or stay, run or watch. She jerked her chin down in a nod and on trembling hands and knees, Lilika slipped behind the tree, her heart pounding in her chest like a war drum. She knelt there and put her hands over her ears, humming so she wouldn't have to hear. 

That man was unaware. Killing in honest battle, that was all right, but only as a last resort. Sneaking up and stabbing your enemies in the back--that was okay too, as long as you knew your enemies and knew they'd do the same to you. 

Despite her family's activities, Lilika had never actually seen the Killing Curse used. 

Darkness settled over her and she looked up to see Snape looking down his nose at her from above. "It's done. Can you stand?" He looped one large hand around her wrist, pulling her hand away from her ear. 

Lilika got up then, slowly, and Snape shook his head, his eyes hard. "How weak you can be. You're the last person I'd expect to be squeamish about the Killing Curse." 

"At least I'm not capable of just walking up to someone and killing them with a flick of the wrist," she snarled. "You disappoint me, Snape." 

His eyes were glittering. "I've done that so often I simply don't care anymore." He released her wrist and walked away to start pulling off branches from the tree. "Come help me with these branches, if you're up to it. We'll need quite a few to make a fire large enough for the both of us." 

"Fire? Are you going to burn the body? That's surprisingly decent of you, but we have to get out of here." 

Snape stood there with one hand pressed against his side and muttered quietly to himself, looking simply murderous. "I transfigured him into a rock and I'm quite aware of the need to get away; that's what the fire is for." 

Lilika broke off a few of the smaller branches and carried them to the pile, her hands throbbing. "Are you telling me we're going to Floo back to Hogwarts? Because the last time I checked, you can't." 

"There's a special way to Floo in if there's an emergency. I have a password protected passage into one of my dungeons." She stopped piling wood to glare at him. 

"Why wasn't I ever told about this? I assume the other teachers know, am I right?" 

The dull salmon dots blotches that passed for a blush on him appeared on his face. "Never mind that now," he ground out between his teeth. "Just get more wood." 

A thought suddenly poked her, hard. "Wait a moment," she told him and walked over to where she had seen the Death Eater's modified wand drop. It lay off by the tree, its brown sheen easily visible against the dead grass. Lilika looked at it for a moment, then took careful aim and fired. There was a most satisfying explosion. 

She returned to where Snape stood, scowling and watching her with questions in his eyes, carrying a piece of the wand which she carefully stowed away in her pocket. "The Toff no longer has his toy. Mr. Ollivander, I'm sure, is capable of making an identification of every wand he's ever made even if there's only little bits and pieces left." 

Instead of answering, Snape placed a hand on her back and bunched the material of her shirt between his fingers. "Hold on to me. Tightly." A jet of green flame sputtered from the end of his wand and ignited their wood pile as Lilika held on to his waist. 

Fumbling with his wand as he tried to extract a small jar of glittering powder and open it at the same time, Snape's other hand gripped her even more tightly. "Close your eyes." 

She did, and Snape muttered a string of words rapidly, then changed to a sequence that sounded almost sing-song in quality. The fire roared and it shone as brightly against her closed eyelids as the sun. 

"Now!" he shouted and hurled them into the flames. 

*** 

They fell, choking and gasping out soot onto the hard floor of his workroom as the fire burned away around them. 

The girl lay prone and coughing, whilst Snape sought to make sense of his tangled thoughts. The Headmaster needed to be informed immediately and there were certainly going to be no more trips outside of Hogwarts for a certain female... 

His fingers were still curled into Miss Woodville's shirt, and Snape was surprised to see that his fierce grip had actually left little rents in the fabric. He rose first, unclenching his fingers and Miss Woodville followed with a groan, her normal sickly pallor distinctly green under her eyes. 

"Well, all our limbs are intact," she said, her voice steady but pitched so low Snape had to crouch down to hear her. "Though I may have misplaced my liver around that last turn." 

"So this has all been very amusing to you, eh?" He moved away, trying not to let the pain from his wound affect the way he walked and lit a fire under one of his cauldron with a wand flick. He'd need something stronger than usual to deal with this injury and with his unquiet mind as well. 

Why had that pretentious prat behaved so very deferentially to Miss Woodville? It had been true obeisance as well, not sarcastic pretense. Most odd. As a pure-blood 'traitor' to the great cause of her family she should had been treated with utter scorn by any self-respecting follower of the Dark Lord, yet that boy had looked at her almost _worshipfully_. 

The stupid lemming had been acting like a boy with a crush, yet Miss Woodville had surely never seen him before or he her. Lust at first sight? Why would anyone other than himself want such a pale plain crumpled little thing? Besides, the only reason he wanted her was because he had gone insane from lack of sex. There was simply no other rational explanation for it. 

As always, she distracted him. "There's blood on your shirt." 

"That's what happens when you get a wound," he snapped. Slashed and burned, a nasty smarting thing to treat. He walked away and she followed. 

"Let me see." 

"Go away. You're not a healer." 

"You have been hurt, idiot." 

"Oh, and you weren't? Yet you don't see me asking to muck about in your insides." Why was she so bloody insistent about touching him? There was no real reason for her to want to. 

After that, Miss Woodville hung back and quietly waited until he had foolishly moved into a spot between two work tables and a wall and trapped him. "Stop squirming!" 

His hands were full of potions ingredients; he couldn't fight her until he had put them down and by then she was upon him. "Get off, wench!" The girl ignored him completely, placed one hand on his side and carefully pulled the blood soaked cloth away. 

The wound was ugly, running thick with blood and a cracked mottled pink in the burned areas. She whistled. "Gods, what a curse." 

Her hand was now resting on the bare skin above the wound, almost in contact with his blood. "How are you still standing?" One small finger moved then, and cautiously traced the outline of his injury, making a large circle. "You're so skinny," she muttered, "and you call me scrawny and yet you stand here with a wound that would have left me unmoving." Her hand came higher, under his shirt and traced a rib. 

"_Enough,_" he snapped and pushed a hand down on top of hers, trying to force her away from him. Her flesh was uncomfortably warm and dry, adhering itself to his, and if she didn't move her hot little hand _this instant_ he was going to break down screaming. 

_Such a stupidly simple act of touch...If she wants the rights to my body, she's going to have to grant me the use of hers first. No one except a lover can just so casually put out a hand and feel._

Miss Woodville did not pull away. Her eyes were tight with some unhappy feeling, little folds of skin bunching between her eyebrows, and when she lifted her head to look at his face, her expression was of mute, stricken confusion. How odd. She was also strawberry red in the cheeks. 

Inch by inch, she slid her hand away and Snape breathed out quietly. The muscles around his ribs ached. "_Thank you._" 

The girl nodded, her lips straight as she regained her composure. "You're going to deal with that wound yourself?" 

"Do you think I like people touching me?" he sneered in return, annoyed at the implied slight. "I've been taking care of myself for a long time, my girl, and I'm quite capable of healing myself. Don't trouble your little head about it." 

Snape waited for an explosion, a storm, even a minor fuss or least a furious swipe at his ankle. Instead, Miss Woodville wandered silently across the room, one hand rubbing her side, and pretended she was absorbed in the various bottles of potions stored along the walls. 

The quiet stretched away for long minutes, as Snape strode around, trying to finish collecting the materials he would need for his healing potion, and as he went he found himself having to clamp his lips shut on some comment, some little aside--he certainly didn't want to be the one to speak first. It wasn't his fault that she was a bad sport; let her have her little power trip to herself. 

Miss Woodville moved towards the door, still crimson around the ears. 

"I suggest you make yourself something to deal with any side effects having your insides twisted about might bring; a low-grade Healing Potion should be sufficient. You might also want to take a small dose of Sleeping Potion tonight to ensure you don't end up sleepless from discomfort." 

She blinked, stepped further back into the room and one small hand wound a strand of hair round her fingers with short, jerky flips. "Why can't I just go see Madam Pomfrey?" 

Snape nearly dropped the vial he was clutching and it took him a few fumbling moments to recover. "Because, my dear, it is not safe to tell anyone at Hogwarts about our little adventure." 

Miss Woodville was rubbing her arm and staring off into space, the crimson spreading from her ears around to the edges of her cheeks. "No one? Not even McGonagall?" 

"No one," he repeated coldly. "I intend to tell only the Headmaster. Don't you understand? There is a spy in Hogwarts. No one else can be trusted with any details of our activities." Why was her gaze darting so urgently around the room? "What is the matter with you?" 

Her face was slowly turning purple. "I can't make those potions." 

"Any third year could make those potions; why can't you?" 

She was going to tear the cloth of her skirt in two if she continued to grip it that tightly. Not that he minded. "What I mean is that I can't brew potions at all. After I blew up my fifth cauldron my tutor decided I needed to concentrate on other things." She looked away, at a patch of floor, then muttered very softly, "Plus, I couldn't be bothered remembering all the how and what goes with what and you can't put these ingredients together else your skin will fall off." 

Snape rubbed his ears, to make sure they were still attached correctly. "You memorised the entire encyclopedia on Dark Arts, and yet you can't manage a simple potion? Your tutor obviously wasn't up to snuff if he gave up on you that easily." He kept his tone harsh and chiding, letting his disdain pour through. What was wrong with this girl? Why had she never bothered to learn one of the most important and subtle strengths of a wizard's craft, instead just casting it all aside like that? 

Clearly Andrew had not chosen the proper tutors for the girl..._wait..._

His fingers were suddenly nervous and unsteady and he cursed quietly. An idea had just skittered through his brain, pale and transparent still, but if he could make it work...make her agree to it... 

Miss Woodville turned plum. "Don't you insult Master Hennings!" 

"Bah. Your tutor was damned lazy at the very least, but think what you will," he sneered and turned away from her to hunt for a spare bottle on the table, thoughts frantically cramming his brain. His idea was nearly full-formed, but he needed a bit more time. "I still can't believe that you, you who hold yourself up as the paragon of all witches cannot brew even the most simple unguent to cure boils!" He shook his head in a slow roll of sorrowful wonder. "I thought I'd never find someone even worse than Neville Longbottom at potions..." 

She had gone perfectly silent, which most likely meant a very great rage was coming on. Lovely. First the sweet and then the bait. 

"I'll brew you some this one time...and some extra sleeping potion even...on one condition." 

"What condition?" Ooh, she sounded ready to explode. Pity. All that good energy going to waste. 

"Condition being that you spare some of your free time to take lessons from me. I simply cannot have you running to me every time you need something brewed." Snape narrowed his eyes and watched her face intently, a snarl playing over his lips. "I abhor stupidity in any form--as do you, I think--and it goes beyond disgraceful for a grown witch to be unable to brew potions even an eleven year old would find too easy!" 

A dull, grating sound reached his ears; Miss Woodville was slowly grinding her heel into his stone floor. 

He played with a bottle from the table, letting a smirk twist his mouth. "Besides, you can later boast you were taught by a master." His tongue gave an extra little curve to the last word. "You know how skilled I am. Is it so shameful for you to admit you need to be tutored?" 

"When?" she snarled, a very low, thick and angry sound. 

"Excuse me?" 

_"When?"_

Snape made a show of putting the bottle down and rearranging some of his glassware, to hide his shaking hands. "Next Monday at seven?" 

"Seven-thirty," Miss Woodville countered, looking as if she was just barely keeping herself from wrecking the room in her fury. "_Good night._" 

"Good night," he said quietly in return, and some of her anger left, leaving her looking a little surprised and perhaps annoyed at his mild tone. She strode to the door, pale eyes gleaming, and left, shutting the door gently behind her. 

The click of her heels faded as she moved away from his rooms, and Snape let himself breathe again, in and out, great steady heaving breaths. He hadn't really thought it would work... 

_Calm. You'll have her alone and to yourself soon enough. Patience. Did you really think she'd go so easily? It's not as if you've won yet._

From across the room, he could see himself in the mirror, his hair hanging limp to his shoulders and his face distorted with thinking. Such a peculiar little creature. Soon to be his. What did it matter why he wanted her, when every bit of him ached and was howling for satisfaction? It would be strictly a business relationship. Simply a matter of carnal pleasures. Give and take between two consenting adults. 

A smirk bent his lips. Judging from the way she had flushed when he had laid his hand upon hers, perhaps Miss Woodville wasn't quite so indifferent either. It would be work to tease that indifference into willingness, but he'd be more than happy to let her take out any frustrations she might have on him provided he was allowed to do the same. 

And when she lay spent and limp beneath him, it would become clear just who the true victor in their little power struggle was. 

Snape moved closer to the mirror, lifted his hand and absently traced the outline of his face. Time to act. 

"We'll have a mistress for you yet," he whispered. 

*** 

Lilika did not discover the small welts Snape's fingers had left on her back until she began to undress. She paused, scowling. There was a raised ridge of nail marks right along her spine where he had gripped her and they stung as the air hit them. 

"Oh, as if I hadn't been roughed up enough today," she muttered, quickly pulling her nightdress over her head and swallowing a wince as the cloth brushed her skin. 

Even so, pain was a good distraction to keep harsher thoughts away; who was that Death Eater? What was the reason for his strange civility towards her? So, it was _Voldemort_ who was after her and not her family? _What the bloody fuck was going on_? 

"I don't want to say it," she grumbled, "but a certain person may have had a modicum of truth in his words when he said this trip was not a good idea." 

Especially when the trip had proved just how comfortable a certain person was with the Killing Curse. She swallowed hard against a dry throat and tried to dissolve the memory of Snape standing over the Death Eater, wand in hand, his voice spinning out the syllables of the curse. 

_What of it?_ Lilika thought. _How can I say whether or not my interference would have been for good or ill?_ She took a breath and rubbed her arm, pressing her fingers hard into the skin. _If the Death Eaters had managed to carry us off, Snape would have ended up most definitely dead. I don't like killing at all, but I can see the necessity of what Snape did. It's just...Snape didn't give him a chance to face it head on... _

_Oh, enough about Snape and death! I want to stop thinking about him. Want to be free of him for just a little while._

But once the image had been summoned, the ideas would not stop cramming themselves into her brain, one after the other. She breathed a little harder. Snape's warm skin and glittering eyes, the peculiar note running underneath his voice when he had offered her potions lessons and the lovely twinge that had started in her fingertips and run, hot and feathery, through her skin when she had touched him... 

...she was _not_ going to give him that power over her. If anything, Snape would be the one undone and quivering for her touch whilst she ruled over him. 

Not that it would ever happen. Even if she'd hadn't had sex in six years. 

It was quite funny how nearly being abducted could make one so sleepy. Lilika struggled into bed, yawning all the while and laid her head against the pillow, thrusting all thoughts of Death Eaters and Potions Masters out of her brain. 

*** 

_Lilika is seventeen again, standing in front of her new home, hidden from everyone and happy about it. _

There is a small popping sound besides her and Andrew Woodville appears, tall and bent with dark circles under his eyes. He smiles quickly at her. "A gift. From one escapee to another." 

"Father?" 

He holds out a small box on the palm of one hand and opens it with the other. She squints at the inside; two curved, golden earrings. 

"Why are you giving me this?" She takes a step back and stares at his face, dotted with shadow from the trees overhead. 

"They're yours now." Her father smiles, a bit stiffly. "Never, ever lose them." 

She starts to speak again, but his form blurs and he vanishes within seconds. The box lies on the grass at her feet. 

Inside Lilika's house, the box sits open on her dressing table, ignored for days until her new friend Amelia comes over for tea. She admires the earrings whilst Lilika is busily fixing the tea, reaching over to touch one. "Yah! It's hot!" 

Lilika hurries over, tea left behind. "What's hot?" 

Amelia shows her a fingertip gone bright red and blistered. "Your earring! I just touched it and it burned me! 

Lilika taps each in turn. "Doesn't bother me," she admits, but a slow, cold idea is beginning to grow inside of her head. "Which one was it?" 

"The left one." 

It's easy enough for Lilika to put on the right earring, but her hand stops over the left. What the hell was my father thinking? 

Key to the Dark Power, I summon you to your true form with my blood..

"And bind your children to my will," Lilika finishes in a whisper. A small flare of silver light from the earring slides around one finger and buries itself in her palm. 

Amelia stares at her. "This is one of those wizard things, right?" she finally asks. 

"Ummm," Lilika says as a way of not explaining. She puts the left earring on. 

*** 

Tavichan apologises for the lateness of this chapter. Tavichan has been hideously busy lately and would like to BASH both school and work. *cries* LOOK AT THIS THING! This took forever! It's not even that long! *sobs* I hope, HOPE the next chapter will not take this long. Thanks to everyone who wrote to encourage me and tell me to hurry the hell up. ^__^ 

Next chapter: Lilika and Snape had finally started to ease closer to each other.   
What a pity Sirius Black had to show up and ruin it all. 

**Part 12: A Yuletide Play/Overture of the First Act**

_ First we touched and we heard each other  
Then we tear our hearts apart  
We are too close and I can feel the pain  
Fill my empty heart  
_

_Is this pain too much for me?  
Can I stay the same?  
When this pain consumes my heart  
Will I be able to hold on to my soul? _


End file.
